Peata Beag A Dhaidí
by elleisforlovee
Summary: With the announcement of WW2 on the horizon, Sybil and Tom find that their eldest daughter has some unfavorable news of her own to share with them.
1. Neutrality

**Disclaimer****: **I cannot take credit for the inception of these characters. This plot and this version of them, however, is mine.

**A/N****:** This is my S/T Valentine Gift for **Mosteyn**. The prompt was that Sybil and Tom discover their (unmarried) daughter is pregnant. Mosteyn also mentioned WW2 period and I love that idea because I've never been given the opportunity to write Sybil and Tom during that time. It brings up a lot of really interesting facets that would be lacking if it were any other time with the Bransons in England. Ireland views women and the roles in the household a bit differently and that was also fun to play to. So basically I really enjoyed writing this and I hope everyone enjoyed reading it!

Now a bit of a gaeilge lesson before we continue:  
>~Peata beag a Dhaidí (pronounced: patuh b-yug a-yadi) means "Her father's pet". It is the irish equivalent of "Daddy's little girl". You could say "cailin a Dhaidí" but that would sound sexual and weird so let's not.<br>~Tá grá agam duit (pronounced: ta ga agamditch) means "I love you"  
>~Tá brón orm (pronounced: ta bro-nerm) means "I am sorry"<br>~Le do thoil (pronounced: lay duh hull) means "please"  
>~Go leor (pronounced: ga-lore) means "enough"<br>~Tá náire orm (pronounced: ta nareh or-um) means "I am ashamed"  
>~Gabhaigí mo leithscéal (pronounced: go-hoyg mo leshkale ) means "I ask (you both) to pardonexcuse me"

Alright — longest author's note ever. Sorry about that!

Enjoy! x

* * *

><p>The walk home from the hospital was not done joyously, and Sybil had yet to properly exhale all the stress of the day in the way she normally would after such a long shift. The heels she wore clicked into the pavement heavily, making it look as if she were more determined, more willful in what she was about to do. Normally, she'd walk rather slow, enjoying cool autumn days like this one where the trees that lined the street she lived on with her husband and their four children invited her home.<p>

Tom, now working as Chief Editor for a local newspaper, found he was home earlier. With talk of war, it was not a luxury, but a matter of fact that he was now expected to take much of his work home with him. Late into the night, long after all of the children would go to bed, he'd be up, slaving over the typewriter Sybil bought him several Christmases ago with the bonus from her nurse's wage. Then, the gift was so new Tom practically cried at the sight of it, but now, it was heavy and already beginning to wear on the keys where Tom's fingers spent the most time piecing together days, weeks, and months into years as if they were patches on a quilt and he were no more than a seamstress. It was his stories that educated the public and kept them mentally warm, all the while leaving his fingers dry, calloused, and sometimes bleeding.

Sybil kept all of his articles, saying that the folder of clippings was a testament to how hard-working her husband was, and smart too. These were the things she'd whisper into his ear at night as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him off to bed with her, where he'd argue that the growing file was more of a statement on the time he was allowing to pass lately all without his permission. A war on horizon certainly seemed to bring everything into focus, reminding them both of how much had changed since they first met, and all they'd vow to one another should anything try to tear them apart.

The news Sybil brought with her on this day was inconvenient, and altogether unsettling. Although it certainly did not help that war was imminent, this was news that could shock any mother, at any time. And she dreaded now having to share it with her husband who she already knew was drowning in news of his own, the kind he'd share with the world while she kept theirs a secret.

"Tom?" She called out, her eyes trained up the stairs as she took off her scarf and shimmied out of her coat. "Tom?" It came again.

At the top of the stairs, her youngest son Aiden stopped, carrying in his hands a book as he looked down to his mother with a bemused look upon his face. "He's in your room changing. He got home from work late."

"Is supper on?"

"It's soup. Gran was over earlier. She helped Aine put it on when we first got home with Rian, why?"

"Can you do me a favor and watch it? And have your sister set the table while you do?"

Aiden's eyes narrowed, studying his mother and the way she now marched up the staircase toward him. "Mam?" he asked, the word suddenly seeming so proper. "Is everything alright?"

Sybil smiled sweetly, softening in the way mother's do when their children somehow find a way to be so kind and caring. "Yes, my boy," she practically sang as she reached forward to cup his cheeks. "I'm fine. Just a long day, that's all. Now!" she let out, her voice rising in pitch, "Please do as I ask because I am starved."

She turned on her heel and went to walk off down the hall toward the room she shared with Tom but was stopped. She pointed at Aiden again; this time it was her turn to ponder. "Have you done your homework yet?"

"No, I, uh…"

"Aiden, what did we say?"

"No homework, no rugby," he let out. "But how am I supposed to do my homework if I'm working on supper?"

"The same way the rest of your brothers and sisters manage. Do it when you get home and not when you hear my key in the lock, alright?"

He sighed. "Alright."

"Good," she smiled.

On the way down the hall, she passed the room her two daughters shared, where on the bed, Aine had already completed her homework and was now sketching. In her hand, she held a small piece of charcoal. She did not look up to her mother, and as her hand continued to move, smudging the blackness in a curve along the paper, she let out a simple: "Hi, mam!"

To which Sybil smiled, and tapped at her daughter's door frame. "Hello, darling," she managed in reply.

Finally, she reached her bedroom, and sighed as she reached out for the doorknob. Slowly, she pushed inside, and sighed as she saw her husband, still in his clothes from work, writing something at the desk by the window.

"Tom Branson, do you ever stop?"

He smiled and turned to his wife. "Do you? You're late."

Sybil squinted as if trying to remember an appointment or promise she had made with her husband. When none came, she sauntered over to him and leaned down to give him a long, slow kiss.

"Mmm," Tom moaned. "How was work?"

"Busy," Sybil admitted as she began to get out of her uniform.

"Tell me about it," Tom countered. "I was in Oireachtas today…"

Sybil looked to her husband. "Oh?"

"Should a war break out, they want to stay neutral."

"Do you think that'll hold?"

"For us it will, but for everyone else, I'm not as convinced." A pause. "How's your German?" Tom asked, causing Sybil to sputter out a laugh as she stepped out of her skirt and into a pair of slacks.

A silence settled over them as Tom watched his wife, now in trousers and a lace brassiere, walk to his side of the closet to grab for one of his shirts. Eventually, he turned around, returning his attention to the article he was working on while his wife's tiny hands began to clasp the buttons on his flannel shirt. Barefoot, and with her long hair now loose, Sybil stepped into Tom and wrapped her arms around him. Briefly her eyes glanced to the pages he had already typed before nibbling at his ear then mollifying the lobe with a few tender kisses. "Can we talk after dinner?"

Tom stopped typing and looked to her. "About?"

"I got news today that I need to share with you."

"Good news?" Sybil said nothing so Tom continued. "Bad news, then?"

"It's neither."

Tom sighed and turned back to his work. "Mhm," he accepted.

"I'm neutral," she said simply, her words entertaining the thoughts already in Tom's mind. "Like Ireland…"

Tom kissed the back of Sybil's hand in appreciation, vowing silently to keep the time after dinner reserved for her and her alone. In all of his quiet amusement, he did not have the heart to remind her that those who declare neutrality rarely remain as such; those who refuse to align themselves with the opinions of one side or another must make their intentions known eventually.

~!~

As it so often is the case, Sybil and Tom did not actually get a moment to themselves until it was nearly midnight. After dinner, they took their time clearing the table and washing dishes while the children sat out in the living room listening to a program on the radio.

Madeleine, Sybil and Tom's eldest daughter, arrived to dinner late. It being a Friday, she was due home from University where her parents allowed her to reside after earning a full scholarship. Specifically, Tom and Sybil insisted she go, unable to deny that they were proud to be sending off the first Branson grandchild to college, but even more so proud of the fact that said grandchild was a female, and their eldest. Now, with the news she was about to share with her husband, Sybil felt as if sending her away might not have been the best idea, but it was a better idea than the ones she was raised to believe — ones that told her that locking children away was the best way to protect them from the world.

With the house dressed in darkness and their bedroom door finally shut and locked, Tom grabbed Sybil by the waist and pulled her into him. "I know you wanted to chat, but I just want to let you know how stunning you look today…" he mumbled before lazily seizing her lips. Sloppily, the two remained like this, passing sensual kisses back and forth like secrets that needed sharing.

It took everything in her to finally pull away from Tom, especially as his hand began exploring the smooth, milky skin beneath the material of her shirt. "Tom…" Sybil tried. "Darling, I love you, but not tonight."

Immediately, Tom stopped. "Syb? You're not…" His voice trailed off as he calculated how many days it had been since her last cycle. Doing so, he answered his own question. "Sorry," he let out, turning away. "I guess I was misreading signals there…"

"No, love, I want to and we still can, but if I know you, and I do—"

"You do," he nodded, a small smile now appearing across both their faces.

Sybil continued. "You're not going to want to after I share my news with you."

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly. "Christ, Syb, you're scaring me now…"

"I'm fine."

"The children then?"

"Mostly fine," she said hurriedly.

Tom grimaced as he sat down. "Which one?"

Tight lipped, Sybil smirked and moved to sit beside her husband on the edge of their bed. "Your eldest," she revealed with a heavy sigh.

"Bad?"

"I don't know," Sybil shrugged. "I'm neutral, remember?"

"Sybil, all the time I have known you, you've never been neutral on anything, love…"

"I'm neutral on this because I don't know if it's true or not."

"Alright," Tom sighed. "Out with it."

"She may be pregnant."

"What?" Tom scoffed.

Hot tears began to pool, coating Sybil's lower lash line as she thought of the anger inside of her husband and the sadness that would soon exist within her if she had to watch him and their eldest daughter argue. "Please don't make me repeat it," she whispered.

Tom looked off and wiped at his upper lip, confirming what Sybil could feel radiating off of him: rage, mixed with just the slightest bit of disappointment and sorrow. "How do you know?"

"Another nurse told me. She works in that part of the hospital. She said Madeleine used a different name, but she was almost sure it was her…"

"Do you believe her?"

"Well, why would she lie?" Sybil yelled back. In hearing her tone, she shut her eyes and looked to the floor. "I'm sorry," she said, her apology coming just as quickly as her volume had. Already though, she was calm, finding that in her own moments of severe tension, Tom was able to take the opposite approach, balancing out the room with the love and understanding she was currently lacking.

"Have you asked her?"

"No," Sybil gave quickly. "I wanted to. I thought, you know, maybe it'd be a misunderstanding, something I could clear up and then laugh about with you before bed…"

"Well. There's no sense in waiting. Let's call her in here."

"Tom," Sybil tried. "Is that our best idea?"

"Do you have other suggestions? I don't know about you, Syb, but I certainly won't be able to sleep until I know the truth."

Sybil picked her head up and looked to Tom. "I'm afraid I won't be able to sleep either way."

Sybil looked away, her mind thinking of Ireland, this place she called home and how at one point it was such a foreign world to her. The women here acted differently, all of them finding a way to be wives and mothers and sisters with sweet smiles and tight lips while at the same time, beings completely capable of carrying their own, especially with the men in their lives that sometimes wished to restrict them.

She was lucky, she thought. Her husband was much more open to liberal ideas, ones that sometimes clashed with what the church told them each Sunday morning. Their children were brought up on these same principles, but Sybil and Tom always thought that to be honest with your children was the best way to combat ignorance. Now, she wasn't so sure, for it seemed that despite all her teachings some things just could not be helped.

Without any word, Sybil stood up and walked to the door. She turned the knob and listened to the indicative creak as she began to creep toward the room her daughter's shared. From outside, she could hear their chatter, and for two girls that rarely got along, Sybil found a smile gracing her cheeks, one that was quickly dismissed when she thought that her work would only act to eradicate it.

"Mads?" Sybil tried, her eyes now feasting on her daughters, both of them on their respective beds. The smiles they wore did fade, a sign that the gossip they were passing back and forth was childish and most likely of little importance if occurring so fleetingly.

Not wanting to alarm Aine, Sybil smiled. "Can we talk to you for a second?"

Madeleine's eyes turned cold as she began to nod. "Sure," she said hesitantly. The pillow she had been clutching in toward her stomach was set down as she stood up and began following her mother down the hall.

"Is everything alright?" she asked as she shut her bedroom door behind her.

Sybil said nothing and instead stopped and turned to her daughter. The hall they stood in was dark, with only a small lamp down at the end illuminating the portrait of each woman's face. Gently, Sybil reached out and touched her hands to Madeleine's shoulders. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Madeleine blinked. "I don't think so…"

"Alright," Sybil sighed. She detached from her daughter and moved to open the door to her own bedroom. "In you go."

Tom was right where Sybil had left him, with his knees spread wide and his body hunched over them, with elbows holding all of his weight as he stared at the pattern of the newly finished wood floors. He looked up, but did not smile in the way Sybil hoped he might. In fact, he did not soften or warm until Sybil was seated beside him, holding his hand in her lap.

"Should I sit?" Madeleine asked.

Tom looked to his daughter. "It's up to you."

"What's going—"

But Madeleine couldn't finish her question because her father had one of his own, one he found to be much more important. "Are you pregnant, Madeleine?" he asked honestly.

She could only nod. "I think so," she replied quietly, tears already coating her eyes.

Sybil tightened the grip she had on Tom's hand. "We didn't...we didn't know you were seeing anyone."

"His name is Jacob. He attends university with me. We go to mass together each week. His dad's a solicitor and his mum volunteers at the library on the weekends. They're from County Mayo..."

"Do you love him?" Tom asked. His question dripped with the same undertone his wife's previously had — if only these confirmations would somehow better the situation.

"No." A pause, and then: "But I might. Someday."

"Were you going to tell us?" Sybil asked, trying to stay calm for everyone's sake.

Madeleine quickly shook her head as her hand reached up to wipe at her nose. Harshly, she closed her eyes on several falling tears. "I wasn't going to tell anyone, not even Jacob…"

"That would have been a hard thing to keep from everyone…" her mother returned honestly.

"I was going to take care of it."

Tom's eyes narrowed and his mouth became pointed as he raised his head and began to calculate what his daughter could mean by that. "Excuse me?" he scoffed.

"I said I was going to take care of it, Papa!" Madeleine screamed as she clenched her fists and stomped her foot. As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes widened and she caught her breath, realizing what she had just done. Not only had she just admitted to her parents that she was with child, but she had done so loudly, and with the tongue of an adolescent.

Immediately, her eyes turned to the floor. "Gabhaigí mo leithscéal…" she whispered. The words, ones her father knew well, were melodic and familiar, but they failed at gaining the eldest Branson child reprieve in the way they once may have.

Sybil learned long ago that to use the native tongue was to raise a white flag. She had first heard it when she and Tom arrived at Mrs. Branson's doorstep many years ago. What Helen Branson would not understand in English, Tom did his best to explain to her in Gaeilge. It was not a difference in the knowledge of the language, but instead a vow given while speaking it, a reminder of who Tom was and who he'd always be. It was the same tactic Madeleine resorted to now, her words and the tongue in which they were spoken making a similar request for pardon.

In seeing the anger and disappointment seething within her husband, Sybil inhaled sharply and looked to her daughter. "Look at me, Madeleine." She obliged, her hazel eyes clashing with her mother's concerned grey orbs.

With eyes still closed, she said words a daughter should never utter in front of her parents. "Tá náire orm."

"You should be ashamed!" Tom gave quickly. "You are not married! You don't even have a boyfriend, Madeleine! How could you be so stupid? It makes me sick!"

"Tom!" Sybil tried.

"I said I was sorry!" Madeleine offered, her lips revealing agony as the knot in her throat only tightened. "I don't know what else you want from me, alright? This is why I didn't tell you! I am terrified, Papa! Terrified!" she repeated, this time with a fire in her eyes that caused her pupils to dilate. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I messed up, alright? I messed up and I'm stupid and I'm sorry that I've brought shame to this family…"

Sybil was brought to her feet, moving in the way the inexplicable way mother's do when protecting their family. "Go leor! Both of you!" she roared, knowing now as she spoke her own frustration that perhaps she was selfishly propelled; moving because she could not bear to hear either of them talk this way.

A quiet settled over the room. Every initial trepidation Sybil had was made clear as her blood pulsed heavily, making her whole body seem as if it were on fire. It was her turn to be angry and to show disappointment. For all they had worked for as a family, for all they knew themselves to be, both her husband and their eldest child were now at war, and she was left, feeling as helpless and even more so if forced to pick a side.

"Sit down, Madeleine!" Sybil instructed with her hand pointed sharply toward the small arm chair by the window. As her daughter moved, so did she, walking back to the edge of the bed to sit beside her husband, and just like before, she latched herself onto him, her small hands immediately seeking the girth of his upper arm for support. She was not on his side, at least not yet, but they were most definitely in this together.

She sighed. "Does Jacob know?"

"No," Madeleine whispered. "I already said, I was going to take care of it."

Sybil closed her eyes and tried again. "Madeleine, that's not an option…"

"You always said, mum, that my body is mine and mine alone. What I do to it is my business."

Tom snapped his head toward his wife. With arms still stiffly crossed over his chest, he blinked. "What did you tell our daughter?" he scoffed. "Are you telling them all this?"

Sybil dismissed her husband and turned her attention back to her eldest daughter. "I told you something else when we went through all of that. The stipulation you seem to be forgetting is 'as long as you're safe'," she reminded rather curtly.

"We were safe. Or, he said he was…" her voice trailed off as she let out a loud sob, one that propelled her head down into the palms of her hands as she continued to cry. "I thought...oh, god! I don't know! Maybe he didn't…It was one time!"

Tom looked to Sybil, his face red with fury, but also looking somewhat concerned. She blinked, and he followed, both of them wishing they had the words to mollify a situation that seemed far beyond their own control.

"I cannot tell you what to do, Mads. If you were to have a child, you know how they'd treat you. Girls like you do not have children before marriage. Would you like to marry him?"

"I've honestly never thought about it."

"Then what? An abortion? In this country?" The serenity previously present in Tom's voice was gone now, replaced by something that sounded almost like disbelief. "That's not an option. They'd kill you…"

"There's a place—"

"An unsafe place," Sybil corrected. "Your father's right. Most of the time, the mother is dead before they even have a chance to stop the child's heartbeat and then the child dies slowly inside of its mother...it's a disgusting process…"

"I'm only a month along. Maybe I could go live with Cousin Rose in America!" she tried.

"I'm not sending you to America by yourself to have this child, Madeleine."

Tom looked to Sybil. "Why not? That might be our best option…"

"Will Jacob go with you?" Sybil asked, throwing the question back to her daughter.

"Probably not. He wants to enlist…"

"Jesus Christ!" Tom let out. "Did you hear that, Syb? He wants to enlist."

"Tom, le do thoil…" _Please, _she said harshly, her teeth practically gritting together in an attempt to calm her husband down. This was all happening too fast, and it did not help that her husband and daughter insisted on switching roles, him resorting to that of a child while she played at being an adult.

"Alright," Sybil sighed. "I'm going to ask you something my parents never once asked me." Madeleine looked up at her mother, willing the words to fall. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know!" Madeleine sobbed out. "I'm sorry! I feel very, very stupid, alright? I didn't know what I was doing and it all happened so fast and I wasn't ready—"

Tom raised his head. "Did he force himself on you, Mads?"

"No, never! He's a sweet boy, really. And beyond all of that, a really good friend. I just...I'm not ready for a child!" she sobbed out. "I want to go to school and travel and do all of these things I should be able to do at nineteen!" She was still crying now, and with every heave of her body, her face became more pink and the tears continued to flow. "I'm sorry I disappointed you. I thought, you know, this was my mistake and I'd take care of it. But I'm really scared. I don't know how to fix this one and…"

Sybil looked to Tom and almost began to cry. Unfortunately, neither had the answers, nor the words in the moment to comfort their daughter's fears. Hoping something would come to her, she once again squeezed Tom's hand, but as she went to speak, she was cut off by her husband, his voice failing to waiver.

"We all make mistakes, Madeleine…"

"Tá brón orm…" she whispered again, her eyes not daring to meet his.

Sybil nodded, knowing that the words Tom gave Madeleine were in her benefit. "I...I know you are, darling." She sighed. "This is not going to be easy, Mads. Whatever you do, this entire town is going to judge you for it. If you disappear, they'll want to know why. If you have this child and give it up for adoption, you'll be cast off. You won't be allowed in church. You may be kicked out of school. We can't control those things. But if I were you, you need to think long and hard about what's best for you. You need to talk to Jacob. If he goes off to war, there's no guarantee he's coming back…"

There were tears in Madeleine's eyes and she nodded, causing one to cascade down toward the bridge of her nose. "Just know that you're not alone and you never will be. We all love you very, very much."

"I know," she nodded.

"I just wish you would have told me," Sybil stressed, interrupting the silence completely. "I thought that your father and I worked to build a relationship with you where if you ever were in trouble, you could come talk to us."

"I kind of just hoped it would disappear. I know it's awful, but with finals coming up, I thought maybe the stress would make me miscarry, or maybe I'd find out it was a mistake at the hospital…"

"Oh, Madeleine, please don't say those things…" Sybil let out, now moving to wipe under her eyes.

"Mam, don't cry, this is my fault."

"It's that boy Jacob's fault as well, I'll have you know…" Tom interjected as he reached out to comfort Sybil once more.

Sybil rolled her eyes and looked back to their daughter. After a heavy exhale, she continued. "But it's not your fault. Because sex is natural and it happens and I don't want this to ruin it for you because when done safely and with the right person, it's the best thing in the world…"

"So you're not mad?"

"Madeleine, I am furious," Sybil emphasized with pursed lips, her words so biting they might as well have been spoken by Tom. "But being angry and getting mad and throwing a chair out the window in the way I'd like is not going to solve this. I can be angry all I'd like, but that won't make the child growing inside of you disappear."

Then: "Papa?"

Tom looked up from where he had just pressed a kiss to Sybil's hairline. "I don't have much to say to you right now…"

"Tá grá agam duit?" she tried, posing her love to her father like a question as if to ask him: _do you still love me? _She was not going to make the same mistake again of forcing her love on someone who clearly had no need for it.

Tom looked away. "Go to bed, Madeleine. We'll talk in the morning."

The room was silent, and as Madeleine opened the door to leave, all occupants inside were a bit shocked to find that the hallway and the rest of the house was still dark and very much asleep. They were sure that come the morning, everyone would know. Unlike at Downton, secrets in this home were not secrets for very long.

Slowly, Sybil and Tom dressed for bed, and finally, when the lamps were turned off and both were beneath the covers, Sybil curled into Tom and held onto her husband as she wept into his neck. All of the pain of that day, of the burden of children that mother's bear so long after giving birth, was taken off of her shoulders and shared with Tom. In return, the limitless compassion and strength he wished to share with his daughter was instead reserved for this moment, a moment he knew would eventually come when Sybil could no longer claim neutrality.

"That could have been us, Tom. We took that risk once. We made love long before we were married. We didn't even make it to Ireland before I was in your bed. Why her?" she sobbed out. "Why Madeleine? When she has worked so hard and accomplished so much?"

"I don't know, my darling," he said again as he smoothed back her hair and continued to kiss the crown of her head. "I really don't know."

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><p>So! Question. In receiving this prompt and then writing it, I quickly realized there's a lot that could be done here. What is Madeline going to do and how will everyone react? IF anyone wanted, I'd love to hear everyone's opinion. Sybil, Tom, and Madeleine herself all laid out the options pretty clearly. What do you think is the best one? I have my own opinions but I'd love to know what you as the readers think. And I'd really love to take those opinions and expand upon this story, making it much more than a one-shot…<p>

Let me know what you think! :]

x. Elle


	2. A Different Kind of Declaration

**A/N****:** I'm honored that the response to this was so positive. And many of you had interesting ideas for what Madeleine could do, though I have to say, I was amused to see most of you at a loss. This chapter is just another taste of the problems that lie ahead for the Branson family…

Short gaeilge lesson of the day:  
>~The prayer recited below will be familiar to Catholics. This is your typical "Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, Our Lord. Amen." pre-mealtime prayer.<p>

I don't think I used any other Irish words in this, so you should be all set.

Enjoy! x

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><p>Sybil awoke, finding that the sun had not yet risen and Tom was still beside her in bed, blinking up at the ceiling much in the way she was now. Slowly, she rolled over, clasping her hands under her head as if to pray. She smiled, but he did not move, and it was this that had her reaching out for him, her small hand, still warmed from sleep, touching the stubble on his cheek.<p>

"How long have you been up?" she asked softly.

He looked to her and shrugged, pushing his pillow up and away from his shoulders. "A while. I didn't want to wake you…"

"I'm awake now. Do you want breakfast? It's Saturday. I don't have to do much today. We're having that stew tonight at your mother's and—"

"How are you so calm?" Tom interrupted, his voice harsh.

Sybil sighed. "Because you're not. Because one of us has to be."

"Do we though?" he asked honestly. "Do we have to be calm? We don't owe her anything, Sybil."

"She is our daughter, Tom. I won't speak for you, but I owe it to her to not abandon her."

"Why though? When she's abandoned her values? Her religion? Soon she'll bring shame onto this family. That's hardly fair to the rest of them."

Sybil shut her eyes, willing it all to go away. When she opened them again, everything was as she left it, with her husband still tight-lipped, his hands fisting the quilt that covered them in attempt to relieve some of the stress he was experiencing. "As I said last night, Tom, I can get angry but it's not going to solve this. She'll still be pregnant. This boy will still be someone we don't know. If I am calm I can at least look at this with an open mind."

"There is no open mind to be had, Sybil! Do you know what happened the last time a girl in this town got pregnant before marriage?"

"Well, no, I…"

"I don't either!" he snapped. "The rumors spread and before she was even showing she was sent away. Nobody knows what happened to her and if you mention her name, they act as if she doesn't exist. Her own parents don't even claim to know her. They pretend they have five children, instead of six."

Something in Tom's words propelled Sybil upward. No longer could she face him and conveniently, it was easier not to as she toed at her slippers to put them on her feet. Bringing herself to stand, she also walked to the chair by the window, the same one Madeleine sat upon the night before. There, she grabbed for her soft cotton robe and wrapped it around her body, causing the nightgown underneath to pucker at her waist as the material began to provide her with the same warmth their bed previously had.

"I have four children, Tom, and I will always have four children. No matter what happens. I understand that you are upset and I am upset too, but there's no use in us being on opposite sides here. You and I are a team. You know it and I know it that we work best together. We always have. So we need to meet on common ground and that means both of us compromising. I won't be mad and disappointed at both my daughter and husband. There's no logic in it."

"Now," she continued, "I'm going to make breakfast for my family. I'd like nothing more than for you to join us, but if you want to be my fifth child and sulk in bed all day, then that is your choice, I suppose…"

"Syb…" Tom let out quickly. Much more slowly than she had, he found himself sitting up and pulling his knees into himself to give his arms a place to rest. No other words came though, and Sybil did not stop or even slow down to afford them more time.

Swiftly, she left the room, closing their bedroom door behind her as she traveled down the hallway toward the kitchen. Inside, she lit a lamp, knowing the lighting the house had recently been wired to accommodate was still not strong enough to illuminate a room before the sun had the chance to.

"Ma?" she heard, causing her to look toward the table where her eldest son Rian sat reading a book. He too had a lamp lit, but for different reasons. It was his intention not to wake the rest of the house when he couldn't sleep and as he usually did, he came into the kitchen to read. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?"

Rian side-eyed his mother, his lips moving more slowly than usual. "Something feels off…"

Sybil sighed and turned around. "Nothing's off. It's in your head. You think too much." Then: "What are you reading?"

Rian folded the book back to glance at the cover, as if failing to do so would result in him not being able to give the title or author to his mother. "Orwell's newest."

"Oh," Sybil said lightly as she moved to the icebox to collect a few desired food items. "Did you purchase that?"

"No, Mr. O'Connor is letting me loan it. I told him I'd work a few extra hours free of charge until I could get it back to him."

"Alright, well you better follow through," Sybil warned. "You have rugby everyday after school and all of those exams coming up. Don't forget about the big picture. It's important that you get into university. But have fun."

"Which is it, mam? Get into university or have fun?"

"Both," Sybil said simply.

"Okay." He paused and looked up again. "Is it dad? Are you and dad okay?"

Sybil turned away from the skillet with a wooden spoon in her hand and her eyebrows raised high. "What?"

"Is it dad?" Rian said again. "Is that what has upset you?"

"No, darling, your father and I are great. Stop it."

"Well why isn't he out here helping you with breakfast or—"

Tom entered, not only dressed but clean-shaved as well and with freshly brushed teeth. Upon seeing her husband, Sybil smiled, and the gesture only intensified as he leaned in to kiss her lips. Rian returned to his book, feeling nothing at seeing his parent's openly share affection. In fact, for the better part of his life he thought this was how all married couples were. It wasn't until a couple years ago, after spending time at his girlfriend Ciara's house that he realized most couples, even those who loved each other very much, did not act the way his mother and father did. Specifically, they talked to one another differently, and now, as he watched them move about the too-tiny kitchen, he saw the way they were never parted for long with even his father's hand reaching out for his mother's back as he moved to brush by her.

"What are you reading?" Tom asked. Behind him, Aiden and Aine entered, both taking seats at the table after Aine first ensured Sybil didn't need any help at the stove.

"Orwell."

"Oh," Tom nodded as he leaned back into the sink as he sipped at his tea. "Any good?"

"I've only read the first couple of chapters. It's getting there."

"Well, he's English Ri, they're not really known for being epigrammatic…"

"Tom!" Sybil reprimanded.

"Sorry love," was all he offered in return as their children giggled and he pressed a sincere kiss to his wife's temple. Even she would agree that their children were Irish and while she'd never deny or openly neglect her English roots, even she didn't feel that connected to Yorkshire anymore. This was her home: Ireland, Dublin, this small townhome on the North side of the city.

The meal was nearly ready when Madeleine finally emerged from her bedroom. Like Tom, she was also fully dressed, with her hair freshly curled and the gold locket her grandparent's had purchased for her as a confirmation gift hanging around her neck. She acted as if she was right on time as she stepped into the space behind her younger sister, grabbing for plates and then silverware to pass off and be placed atop the table.

"Morning," she said simply when the table was set. Then she sat down, ignoring the way her brothers and sister all gawked at her, especially as their father paid her no attention, the latter bit of knowledge being the most glaring.

"Is everything alright?" Aine asked quickly as she sat down. Instantly, her hands were tightly clasped in her lap and she stared down at them, much in the same way she would have if she were just returning from receiving the Eucharist at church. She said, or did, what she needed to, and she now accepted the silence that would ultimately follow.

"No," Rian said firmly. He didn't know, but he also wasn't willing to accept the answer his mother gave him, and from the moment he woke early that morning, right when his own parents were finally finding slumber, he could tell how off kilter the whole house was.

"What's going on? Who's dead?" Aiden asked.

"Nobody's dead," Sybil said with a sigh as she stepped in toward her family, carrying with her the last plate of food for their morning meal.

"Who's dying then?" Aiden resolved. "Is it you, mum? Dad?"

"Aiden, nobody's dead or dying. Stop it," Tom said stiffly and with eyes that didn't even look up to his son. Instead, he held his knife and fork in his hands, resting both against the end of the table as he stared down at his plate which was still empty. "It looks great, love," he said, finally looking up, removing his gaze from the various platters of food set out across the table. He was trying, and as Sybil sat down next to her husband she reached out to touch his hand, a smile of her own gracing her features.

There was no nod toward the food or change in tone, but all of the Branson family members made the sign of the cross and then clasped their hands flat in front of their lips as they simultaneously began to share a prayer before their meal.

_Beannaigh sinn, a Thiarna,  
><em>_agus na bronntanais seo uait,  
><em>_a bhfuilimid le glacadh  
><em>_ó do rath, trí Chríost ár dTiarna.  
><em>_Amen._

"Amen," Sybil whispered, echoing the sentiment. The once daunting task of delaying a meal to give thanks was now something Sybil cherished. She enjoyed the way she and her husband could sit with all of their children and be still for a moment before plates were passed as everyone struck up conversation.

"Mads, how's school?" Rian asked, thinking it was a good place to begin.

She swallowed at her oatmeal and dabbed at her lips with the napkin in her lap. "Good. It's fine, you know...only just started," she said simply. "How about you?"

"Well, you know St. Mary's, not much has changed since you left."

"Nothing ever changes at St. Mary's," Tom commented, earning smirks from everyone, even Sybil who loved hearing that before he had come to meet her, he had completed a lot of schooling, now the same place their children attended.

"Oh!" Sybil let out. "Aunt Mary sent us photographs in the post."

Tom sipped at his tea. "Of?"

Seeing his cup, and Aine's were almost empty, Sybil stood to grab for the kettle. As she poured them more tea, she spoke. "The cricket match."

Pushing at his sausage, Rian laughed. "Had to get one more hoorah in before their countries shot to shit, huh?"

"Rian, please…" Sybil tried.

"Well it's true!"

"It doesn't matter, Ri, you have family there," Tom warned with icy eyes. It was these that wiped the smirk off his eldest son's face as the rest of the children just watched, learning. "It may seem silly to you and I'd have to say that I agree. But we do not wish any harm on anyone. War is not something to laugh and joke about. Especially when it puts some people who have been nothing but good to you in harms way."

"But Downton will be fine, right Dad? I mean, they're not going to bomb some arbitrary village in North Yorkshire, right?" Aiden asked.

Tom looked to Sybil, then back to his children. "They might. Who knows. Poland has only just been attacked. I hope Britain wouldn't jump right into this, but they have before."

"They will."

Everyone looked to Sybil, her lips pursed as she stared down at her plate. "I mean, of course they will. How could they not? If they don't, Germany will try to invade anyway."

Without warning, Madeleine let out a loud sob before dropping her head down into her hands to cry. Her shoulders heaved as the tears continued to fall, bringing with them, fear-stricken looks from her siblings and more soft, calculated glances from her mother and father. Not yet on Rian's level, Aiden looked to his parents for clarification. Though Aine, his twin, lacked that same maturity, she found it easier to reach out for her sister's back and just leave her hand there for comfort.

"Maddie, you okay?" Sybil asked, feeling already the way that Tom stiffened at her daughter's actions and noises, becoming numb to it all. The other option was to give in and he certainly wasn't ready for that. She was his little girl, and he imagined that she always would be. But this was a decision she made, and he couldn't erase it for her no matter what he tried.

"Fine," she choked out. "Can I be excused?"

"Alright," Tom said flatly. "Go," came next, sounding much more like an order.

Shuffling to her feet, she threw down her napkin and ran off toward her room. Aine sighed, dropping her head down into her hands. "Can she go back to school, already? I know it's a long holiday, but I can never even go in my room when she's home…"

"Aine, I know, darling, but—"

"I'm sorry," she tried instead. "I'm happy to have her home. I'm happy when my family is together. I'm happy to go to mass tomorrow." Her words sounds rehearsed, and for as much as Sybil and Tom tried to teach these things to their children, to get them to realize how lucky they were to live the way they did constantly surrounded by so much love, they never wanted them to be forced to feel that way. Really, they thought that by working hard and providing for their children, it would be enough. They were discovering, all too soon, that sometimes life had other plans.

~!~

On Sunday, for the first time since arriving back to Dublin so many years ago, Tom did not attend mass with his family. Instead, he sat in the bedroom he shared with Sybil, his head resting against his hand as he listened to a radio broadcaster nervously dole out information related to the war. His words came sporadically, some fast, others more syncopated, as if he were reading off a teleprompter, or more likely, he was reading the news as it was handed directly to him in hasty bursts on crumpled white notepad paper.

Behind him, the door opened, and Sybil walked to her husband after shaking off her jacket. "Everyone noticed that you were not there this morning, Tom. I have never seen such white knuckles while everyone held their rosaries. You've scared half the town…"

"They should be scared," he admitted honestly as he turned to face her. He gripped the chair as he took her in. She was always stunning, but on Sunday mornings with her hair curled and her wearing jewelry and even a bit of makeup, she demanded more attention, and Tom was always willing to reciprocate, finding that the time before they headed to his sister's for brunch was time enough to make love or at least manage several stolen kisses.

Sybil sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed closest to him. "You think?"

"Any minute, Syb. They're in the middle of negotiations but I can't see how it'll swing any other way…"

"But we're neutral, right? I mean, that hasn't changed. They won't send our boys off or bomb our land."

Tom wanted to smile or kiss her nose in appreciation of his home being his, just as it had been for so long now. Instead, he took the more sensible option, replying with another bit of truth. "There are no neutral parties in war, love. Everyone's affected. And just because we begin as a neutral party, doesn't mean that's how we'll finish. Some of the good ol' boys are looking to aid Germany because it'll irritate Britain. It's a feckin' mess."

Again, Sybil sighed, this time shutting her eyes as she calculated her next move. It brought her to her husband, where her hands immediately sought out the tense muscles in his shoulders before moving up to cup his face. "I know how hard all of this is for you and I just want you to know that everything will be fine."

"Will it?" Tom asked, as if to tease. He wanted to believe her, but he knew just as well as she did, that sometimes belief did not do much to alter a situation.

"I want it to be. I hope it will be."

"Are we talking about the war or Madeleine?" Tom asked honestly.

Sybil detached from her husband and pressed a hand to her forehead as she began to think. "Well," she said, "It's nice to hear you say her name."

"How was she?"

"She cried in mass."

"Jesus Christ. Your hormones were never that bad."

"I don't think it's hormones, Tom. She's stressed. She's heartbroken. For once in her life she doesn't have a single thought she wants to share. This is all eating at her. And I try to get her to talk. I try to see what she wants, but she won't open up to me. I'm at a loss and—"

"What can I do?"

"I don't know," Sybil dismissed. "I mean, thank you, I appreciate that, but I don't like any of our options."

"What about the boy?"

"She won't tell me anything. I've tried getting little bits of information. You know, how did they meet? Have they been friends for a long time? What are his intentions? Does he know?"

"Does he know?" Tom requested.

Sybil shook her head. "No. I told her I'd help her craft a letter, but she wants to tell him in person."

"You know, I'd like to talk to him—"

"Tom…" Sybil warned.

He did not waiver. "I'd like to talk to him but I don't know if that's proper with his parents not around and I doubt they'd come into Dublin for bad news. I can't invite people I don't know into my home under the guise of dinner. They're not even dating. What if they don't even know who Madeleine is? How embarrassing will that be?"

Sybil couldn't help but smile. "I see you've put some thought into this."

"It's all I've been thinking about. That and this war and the fact that I have a wife and three other children and so quickly my life has become this thing I feel I don't have control over anymore."

"Oh, Tom…" She went to him. Without permission, for she certainly needed none, she sat on his lap and held his face in her hands, comforting him in the best way she knew how. Her husband was strong, the strongest man she knew, but even strong men had their weak spots and family would always be Tom's. She saw it when he nearly cried explaining to her that his cousin was shot dead in the streets when he was just a boy, and then later when his own misfortune forced them to reside at Downton for nearly three whole years.

"What do we do, Syb?"

"Well you need to breathe. Accept that you cannot fix everyone and everything. If a war comes, then so be it. We've been through worse. And at the end of the day, these choices are Madeleine's to make."

"Alright, well what do you think we should do?"

"I don't think it'd be a bad idea to have him over for supper. But I think Madeleine needs to tell him beforehand. It's going to be difficult for her, but that'll only get harder."

"Christ…" Tom let out as he moved to run a distressed hand through his hair. "Why couldn't she have been more careful? Why…"

"I think she loves him, Tom…"

"This boy we've never met? She loves him? Then she should marry him. Problem solved!"

"And if he doesn't love her?"

"Then I'll fecking murder him."

"Tom…" Sybil tried again.

"Maybe they'll grow to love one another. That's how marriages used to be done, right? I mean, if I hadn't saved you, that's how you would have been married."

Sybil kinked her brow. "Let's make this clear right now. You did not save me. I did not need to be saved. I left because I loved you and wanted to create a new life with you somewhere that wasn't Downton. If anyone did any saving, it was me."

Tom smirked. He was constantly teasing her, only because he loved how witty she was in response. "You're right. Now, I can only pray that Madeleine has that strength in her blood…"

The two leaned in to share a simple kiss but were interrupted by the radio broadcast that continued to drone on behind them. Like before, the signal was shoddy, producing segments of white noise similar to that created each time the newscaster let out a heavy sigh. This time, with it, the news that Britain had just declared war on Germany.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated! :]<p>

x. Elle


	3. The Emergency

**A/N****:** Thank you to those of you who have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. It's nice to meet some of you who have period based stories as a reading preference. It's also nice to be back writing more canon work. Thanks for letting me share, and thank you to those of you who have taken the time to review. I really appreciate it.

Gaeilge:  
>~<em>Tá sé a gasú! Tá siad leanaí<em> = "He is a boy! They are children!"

Enjoy! x

* * *

><p>"You're what?"<p>

"I'm pregnant."

This wasn't the news Jacob expected to hear when he was invited to Madeleine Branson's house for dinner. In fact, he didn't know what to expect, but such truths never even crossed his mind as even being an option. He thought that with the war beginning, Madeleine's parents were perhaps being more welcoming to the friends she had at school. After all, they were friends; Jacob liked Madeleine very much, but he wasn't in love with her and he certainly wasn't ready to be a father.

"Madeleine," Jacob let out, "I don't understand."

"Do I need to spell it out for you?"

"Alright," he sighed, as he moved to step into her, both his arms moving up to caress her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"Well that's not good enough! You said you were safe. I thought you—"

"I did!" he insisted. "Both times…"

"Oh god," Madeleine said, dropping her head down into her hands so she could conceal the inevitable sadness that overtook her body, specifically her eyes. "Do not mention that to anyone! It's enough that we're not dating. I get that I was the stupid one and that I allowed all of this without any commitment from you, but I thought...I _never_ thought this would happen."

"Mads, I'm sorry—"

"Don't, alright?" she snapped, still crying. "Please, just stop."

"C'mon, we were having fun, right?

"Well my life hasn't been fun since, okay? I am mortified and sick and I can't stop crying and I'm just so frustrated...I want to die Jake! Do you know what that's like?"

"Mads, you need to breathe. I don't know what to do, okay? I really am sorry. We were safe, but maybe…"

"I was so stupid, Jake. So, so stupid."

"I mean, I was there too, right? Please don't beat yourself up over this."

"How can I not?" Madeleine gave back, her eyes swollen as she continued to sob. Her shoulders heaved, turning her chest and neck pink as she did her best to maintain steady breathing — for her and her unborn child.

"Okay, then what do we do?"

"Not we, me! And I don't know…"

"Do your parents know?"

"Yes," she said simply. She then looked to him. "I understand if you don't want to tell yours. But this isn't going to go away. They'll have to find out sooner or later."

"Can we sit down?" Jacob asked, his hand motioning toward her bed. It only hit him then that they were in her childhood bedroom, that of which was decorated much like the dormitory she shared at UCD with three other girls. Her family was just down the hall: her mother, who Jacob always knew to be so beautiful, making dinner with the help of Madeleine's younger sister Aine. The boys, he imagined, were in the living room listening to the radio just as most families found themselves doing too much lately.

Madeleine sighed and pointed to the chair near the desk by the window. "There," she said hastily. "You can sit there. I'm surprised my father is even letting you in here. I wouldn't want him seeing you sitting on my bed."

"Well, not much harm can be done at this point, right?" Jacob said, trying to make a joke.

Again though, Madeleine dropped her head down into her hands and began to cry. Heavy, breathless sobs were pushed past her lips which collected the moisture from her falling tears. She wanted to disappear, to become so small she might as well be invisible.

"Okay, Mads, I'm sorry. That was a dumb joke, alright? I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. Help me out here…"

"Well first off, please stop calling me Mads!"

Jacob's forehead kinked in confusion. "But...but I always call you Mads. We're friends. We have been since last year. You said you liked it when I called you Mads…"

Madeleine picked her head up, revealing the same red, swollen eyes that now bulged with anger. "Well don't! We're not friends now, Jake! We're not! We can't be! I am having your child."

"Isn't this a good time to remain friends?" he asked honestly, not knowing the way his words would continue to enrage her.

Defeated, he sighed. "Well is that it then? You're going to have it."

"Do I have any other options?" she choked out.

Jacob shrugged, his mouth moving slowly as he tried to comprehend it all. "I don't know. Do you? Aren't there procedures…"

"My mam and dad won't let me."

"Is that their decision?"

"It is when it's the smart one." Calming down, Madeleine sighed and straightened her posture. "I know you think it's weird that I'm so close with my parents. But you and I are not married. You don't even like me like that…" Her voice trailed off, or rather, caught in her throat as Jacob sighed at hearing that admission. Despite her sadness, she allowed her neck to stiffen and her voice to brighten as she continued delivering her plan. "Do you still want to enlist?"

"Part of me does, yeah."

"Well then this really doesn't concern you…"

Jacob stood. "C'mon, Mad...eleine," he finished, adding a smile for good measure. "I can help you. You know, it'll be hard but we can tell my parents. I'll marry you if you want—"

"No!" she practically roared.

Jacob was taken aback. "Alright," he shrugged, as if to calm her down. "We won't get married then…"

"I know you may not think much of me, but I deserve to be married to someone who loves me."

"Madeleine!" her father's voice called out, reverberating against the wood separating them, causing Madeleine and Jacob to both look toward the shut bedroom door. "Dinner's ready."

Madeleine sighed and looked to Jacob. "Dinner's ready."

~!~

While Madeleine and Jacob talked in her bedroom, Aine helped her mother finish dinner while the boys, even Tom, worked to set the table.

"But Ma, I don't understand why we have to sit in the living room," Aiden complained. "We're going to hear you."

"No, you're going to listen to the radio and mind your business," Rian reminded.

"Rian, please, we can parent," Sybil gave in return, causing her eldest to blush as he defeatedly took a seat at the now set table with his father. "Listen, I know this is all hard on you, but your father and I need time to work this out with Madeleine."

"Why can't we come? This all affects us too!" Aiden tried again.

"In his defense, mam, we already know what's going on…" Rian added.

Sybil looked to Tom, and in seeing her hurt and confusion, he spoke up. "You know?"

"Well, she told me first," Aine said simply. "But she told all of us last weekend before she left for school."

"_Where have mam and dad gone, Ri?" Madeleine asked upon entering the kitchen._

"_Mrs. Reilly is having problems getting the new baby to feed so she called on mam. Dad went along for the visit."_

"_Oh," Madeleine let out as she walked to the refrigerator to fill up a glass with water. Behind her, her brothers and sister sat at the table in silence, none of them speaking the words they wished to. _

_Through the silence, Madeleine pulled out her chair, causing the wooden legs to scrape against the hardwood floors in a loud manner. More quietly, her glass was placed on the table, the waterline wavering while she moved to sit down. Then again, the sound of scraping as she pulled her chair in._

"_I'm pregnant."_

_With wide eyes, Rian looked up. He swallowed, and Aiden looked to him, needing guidance in this moment. Aine took the opposite approach, one that had her staring down into her lap where she absentmindedly picked at the skin around her thumbs. This was old news to her, as Madeleine, much in the way she just had, revealed her secret to her youngest sister that morning after getting out of the bath. In response, Aine said little. First a simple "okay" and then an apology, the last words she'd speak to her sister until just now, as she sat forward and offered more condolences._

"_You didn't have to tell them…"_

"_I did though," Madeleine insisted. "They're my brothers and they have a right to know."_

"_How?" Aiden asked, causing Rian to look at him in disapproval. Though the question was innocent coming from a thirteen year old, it still seemed inappropriate. Even if it did make sense to Aiden, and Rian knew it did, it wasn't going to make Madeleine's situation any better. No matter who understood or approved, she would still be with child and without a husband._

"_Uh, what are you going to do Mads?" _

_She sighed. "I'm not sure, Ri. I'm sorry though, alright? If people start to talk, I'm just really sorry…"_

"_It's...it's okay," Aiden managed. "I mean, sometimes they talk about mam anyway. We're used to it."_

"This is between your sister and us," Tom insisted. "It won't kill you to eat a meal by yourselves out in the living room, alright? And to not give your mother and I hell about it either…"

Sybil smirked at her husband as she turned back to the stove, stirring the potato dish she had prepared just as Tom moved out toward the hall to call for Madeleine and her guest, giving the other three Branson children plenty of time to go into the other room where their dinner sat waiting for them. By the time Madeleine and Jacob approached, the table was set, and Sybil was sitting down, ready to clasp her hands in prayer.

Jacob obliged, needing no urging to do so. It was the first and the last thing he'd do at this kitchen table that would make any sense. Though they all stood very much divided on the issue, their religion, no matter how instinctual, acted as a calming precursor to the awkward silence filled only with the clinking of silverware on porcelain dishes.

"Jacob..." Sybil began, knowing that if she didn't, no one would. "Or is it Jake? Which do you prefer?"

Madeleine looked to him, waiting for the response he'd give. "Either is fine," he said.

"And you're in what year at UCD?" Sybil asked.

Jacob met Madeleine's mother with a smile. Though the eldest Branson daughter had her father's coloring, her nose and cheeks were clearly inherited from her mother. "Third. I may graduate early if I can manage it."

"What are you studying?"

"Philosophy," he said, swallowing the food that was in his mouth before dabbing at his lips with his cloth napkin.

"Who's your favorite philosopher?" Tom said abruptly, his words sounding similar to an accusation, as if his answer would prove him worthy or not.

"Socrates."

"Is that because you agree with his teachings or you just find him to be fascinating?"

"I took a class on political theory my first semester. We covered a bunch of philosophers, but Socrates and I have a lot in common…"

"Are you aware of what Socrates says about violence?"

"I am."

"Alright," Tom said, now sitting back. "Then why would you wish to enlist?"

"Dad, please…" Madeleine tried.

"It's just a question," Tom dismissed. "We're just talking."

"It's something I believe in, I guess. I don't think it fair to allow other men to sacrifice their lives when I have just as much to lose."

"But Ireland is neutral."

"They'll still target us."

"But wouldn't Socrates say that you should stay in school? Intellectual power is stronger than physical power. If we raise our children to be great in one area, whether it be sports or music, those things will combat violence, no? Because by specializing, specifically in the arts, that which enriches the mind, we raise man up out of the state of nature."

"I can go back to school."

"Not if you're dead, you can't."

"Tom!" Sybil let out. "Jacob, excuse my husband. He's being insensitive," she warned, her eyes like daggers as they laid upon Tom's.

"You know what, Dad? Let's just get to it, alright? There's no sense in you harassing him."

"He's an adult, Madeleine. As you are now too. You make decisions like these, you'll be treated like an adult."

"Tom, please," Sybil said again. "Madeleine is right. Let's just get to it."

Tom looked to Jacob. "You realize this is Madeleine's decision, correct?"

"Dad…"

"It's her decision and you will respect what she chooses to do."

"Sir, with all due respect…"

"If she decides to have this child, will you be in its life?" Sybil asked sweetly, her voice, and the overall softness of it working to lighten the mood at the table.

"I...I guess so."

"You guess so?" Tom spat. "Is this not clear to you?"

"Tom…"

"Tá sé a gasú! Tá siad leanaí!"

"Tom, I know that, alright? But we discussed this and you're not making this any easier for her."

Madeleine watched now as the conversation died down and her parents merely looked at one another. Of course they had talked earlier, and she imagined her father and mother were much more calm then as they both managed to meet on the same page. It was never difficult for them to always be so solid, so strong as a unit. The contrast, even now as they spoke silent volumes with every blink of the eye, between her parents and her and Jacob, was all too real, and doing nothing to calm the unsettled feeling deep in her gut.

When this conversation was ended and an agreement was being reached, Madeleine watched as her father reached over and stroked her mother's hand, then moving it to hold onto his lap. With him as her strength, Sybil continued, speaking on behalf of her and her husband.

"And after the army, if you get out, will you get a job? If anything, god forbid, were to happen, would you marry Madeleine to make sure she and the child receive all of your benefits?"

"We're not getting married," Madeleine said quickly.

"Mads, I really think that might not be a bad option…" Jacob said, turning to her, creating a small moment just for the two of them.

Intensely, she stared back at him, reminding him of what she said before. Somehow she'd rather people think her without morals, than without heart; she'd rather the heartbreak of judgement than that of a loveless marriage.

"No," she let out. "Absolutely not."

"Madeleine, can you please compromise here? I know none of this is ideal, but you know what people will think. At least if you're married, they know you have good intentions."

"Do you?" Madeleine asked, looking to Jacob again.

"Do I what?"

"Have good intentions," she explained. "Can you honestly say you'll want to be married to me?"

"Madeleine, please. We are friends." He said it again, this time looking to Sybil and Tom. "We are friends. I respect you. This is hard on me too. It doesn't make me feel great to see you struggle, okay? If this will make all of this easier, yes, I'll absolutely marry you. I honestly think that's best. Then, like your mam said, if anything happens to me, you and the baby are taken care of." He sighed. "We can tell people that we fell in love and I want to enlist and we think it's a good time to get married. Crazier things have happened."

She had no words. Those she was feeling were weak, and altogether useless. It did not matter what she felt or knew in her heart to be true; the points raised by Jacob and her parents were valid, and considering her condition, she had no option but to agree. "Alright. We'll get married then."

Something in the way her daughter spoke, had Sybil's heart breaking. After all that had happened, Sybil felt as if she didn't know Madeleine, or that the girl she thought she knew, the bright, beautiful, happy girl, had long ago been replaced by someone much more pained, and all without either her or Tom noticing. Still, Madeleine wasn't crying, and Sybil wondered if this was a good sign or bad. Perhaps she was growing tolerant to all of it, no longer able to feel, or emote. She hoped it would change, or knew that it would, because sometimes all a mother had was the capability to empathize with her children.

* * *

><p>Thank you for reading!<p>

x. Elle


	4. On The Front Lines

**A/N****: **It's worth noting that a few of you have asked if this story is a part of the _On The Other Side_ universe. The reason being that at the end of that story (spoiler alert!) Sybil and Tom have four children, all of whom share the names of the children in this story. When I write it canon, I use these names; I've claimed them as the Branson children. With names, I just like the idea that the same person can exist as many different versions of themselves. If you're familiar with my work, you know that I always have Sybil and Tom's first child be a girl and her name is always Madeleine (the spelling of which differs from universe to universe). So to answer the question, is this the same universe? Well, maybe. The exception being that ages have us being a few years off - ie, if Madeleine in OTOS was nineteen, this would be 1939/1940...so not yet WW2. I still want Sybil and Tom youthful in this story, so as long as we can acknowledge that and forgive the slight gap in years, then I have no problem with readers reading this as an extension of that story.

But I've rambled enough now. This chapter will hopefully bring to light a lot of everyone's curiosities, and confirm that yes, war does sometimes bring out the worst in people. Enjoy! x

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><p>While Tom and Jacob took a walk back toward campus, Madeleine offered to wash the dishes. At first, she enjoyed how silent the kitchen was and how her position standing in front of the sink enabled her to look down onto the small plotted backyard where her mother was taking down the last of the day's laundry. As she saw Sybil ascend the steps, she turned away, beginning to dry the dishes Aine and Aiden helped her to clean. It was a nice gesture, and one she had fond memories of as a little girl: all of them, elbow-deep in murky water, thanking God for dirty dishes because they were the product of full bellies. Her mind only lingered here briefly though, as she instinctively worried about Jacob and the wrath he was undoubtedly incurring from her father. It was well deserved, and she felt much of her father's pain, but she still worried - for both men.<p>

Behind her, her mother headed for the living room where she'd sit on the couch and fold laundry while listening to the radio. In her wake, the hallway was cast into darkness once more, all until Rian walked in, hopping up the steps and immediately walking to the sink to wash his hands.

"Mum and dad know, you know," Madeleine said as she nodded to her brother who grabbed a dirty rag from under the sink to dry his palms.

"Yeah?" Rian asked. "Do you think they'll care?" he chided.

Madeleine looked to her brother with an icy glare. "You're a right arse, you know that?"

"Mads, I'm sorry, but me having a fag every once in awhile is nothing compared to what you've managed to get yourself into."

"You're not being especially kind."

"Yeah," Rian chuckled. "And you weren't especially careful, were you?"

Madeleine threw the damp towel down and turned on her heel to face her brother. "No, I apparently wasn't, but let's not act like I am the only girl in this town who has sex, alright? Are you and Ciara always careful?"

Rian pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and leaned back to rest against the countertop, his feet crossed over one another for support. "We don't have to be careful."

"Excuse me?"

Rian laughed again before straightening up. "Who said we were having sex?" he said, the question being spoken in the same tone as his previous statement.

Madeleine's eyes narrowed. "You're...you're not?"

"No," Rian breathed out. "We'll wait until we're married."

Madeleine bit her lip and turned back to the sink. She thought she was doing a fair job of hiding it, but all too quickly tears began to well up, filling her ducts and her lower lash line, threatening to spill down onto her cheeks. "Of course you are…"

Rian sipped at the glass of water he poured for himself. When he set it back down on the table, he sighed and stepped into his sister. "I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have said anything."

She snapped at him, her eyes still narrowed. "Are you really going to marry her?"

"Yeah," Rian shrugged. "Someday, I imagine. After the war. After she's trained to be a secretary. After I've gone to uni." Another sigh, and then the truth: "I've loved Ciara since I was 13, Mads. I imagine I'll always love her."

Madeleine swallowed and nodded at her brother. Doing so caused her eyes to flutter upward and catch upon his. "Are you in love with her?"

"Yeah," Rian said breathlessly. "I am."

"Have you told her?"

"Yeah."

"What's that like?"

"Loving someone?"

Slowly, Madeleine blinked, and shook her head. "No, I know what that's like. The other part," she explained. "Her loving you back."

Rian looked down to the floor, but the smile he wore was bright and spread like wildfire across his cheeks. "Grand."

Madeleine smiled too. She was unapologetically happy for her brother, and rightfully so. "Grand?"

"Feckin' grand."

She turned back to the sink and grabbed for another plate, but as she began to dry it, she realized that perhaps the cloth in her hand was doing more harm than help, as it created several small streaks of dampness the longer Madeleine pushed at the porcelain. "I like Ciara," she revealed softly. "Be good to her."

"Working on it…"

"Well maybe instead of buying yourself fags, you should buy her something nice."

"I buy her plenty of nice things."

"Well you should start saving. You know how her family is. They'll want a nice ring, and they'll have the ceremony at her church on the other side of town. I imagine it'll be quite lavish."

"I don't know if she cares about all of those things."

"Well have you talked about it?"

"A wedding?" Madeleine nodded. "We talk about everything, Mads. I mean, yeah, it's come up. One time she told me we could go to city hall. Just sign the papers. Have someone we don't even know be witness to the vows. You know how she is."

"Well, she says those things, and maybe she would be happy with that, but I think her parents would prefer a traditional affair."

Rian kicked at the floor below with the rubber sole of his trainer. "Yeah, I guess," he sighed. Soon, his cup of water was gone and he was left without an excuse to be standing beside his sister.

The two of them, though separated only by two and a half years, looked nothing alike. Rian was the only child to have his mother's hair and complexion, while the rest of them were blessed with Tom's coloring, making Aine look like a younger, softer version of Madeleine. They were built similarly though, both slim and of average height. Madeleine had a small waist and arms she thought were a bit chubbier than she would prefer. Daily, Rian struggled with the coarseness of his hair, but they both always looked so put together, much in the way all the Branson children did; all of them so very different but clearly belonging to the same liberal household.

"Why did you do it, Mads?"

She turned to him, her face grown cold. "I don't know," she revealed simply.

"Were you langered?"

"No. Neither of us were."

"Did you talk about it or did he force himself on you or—"

"It just happened, Ri. I...I don't know."

"Alright. Well, if he…" Rian's voice trailed off as he thought of the words he could even say to explain himself. "Just know that I may not understand it and I may be taking this the hardest, but you're still my big sister, and I'll feckin' kill him if I have to."

Madeleine sighed and turned back to the sink. She was on her last dish and in a way, wishing there was more than just silverware to dry so she wouldn't have to retreat to her room so early. "Thank you, but Dad's already taking care of it."

"Killing him?" Rian asked.

He smirked and she followed suit, both of them enjoying how even such stupid humor could still cheer them up. "No. They're just talking."

"Well good luck with that," Rian said matter of factly as he headed toward the door. "If I were Jacob, I'd wish I were dead."

~!~

"Do your parents know?" Tom asked simply. He and Jacob had not said much since departing from the townhome he shared with his family, and although Tom was not much for awkward conversation, he preferred it to time spent wasted. Jacob had carelessly gotten his daughter pregnant. Surely he could handle a walk back to campus on his own.

"No," Jacob replied simply. Like Tom, he had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers, that of which pulled up around the trainers he wore, ones similar to Rian's. "Madeleine only just told me."

"Are you going to tell them?"

"I suppose I'll have to," he sighed. "I'll tell them we're getting married and—"

"Why is it that she bears the shame openly and you don't?"

"They'll put the pieces together. And I'm not ashamed…"

"Well, no, because Madeleine is a pretty girl. She's pretty and smart and kind. I'm sure you told all of your friends about it."

"With all due respect, sir, I—"

"Well did you?"

"No!" Tom turned his head down and widened his eyes in hopes of coaxing a different, more honest answer from the boy. "I didn't!" Jacob gave again.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Jacob? I was your age once..."

"Is that why you married Mrs. Branson?"

Tom scoffed as the heel of his dress shoes hit heavily against the eroded pavement they walked on. "No...but I'm sure that's what people would love to think. Sybil wasn't pregnant until a couple months into our marriage. But let me tell you something, Jacob. People choose to believe their own version of the truth. You and Madeleine can get married and have this child and raise it together. And you'll go to mass every Sunday and everyone will be cordial with you and they'll love that child, but do not think for a second that they don't think they know better. And they won't look at you poorly, they'll look at her and—" Tom stopped. Already, he felt verklempt at thinking just how harsh the world was about to become for his eldest daughter.

Or was it his wife he was sad for?

"I haven't told anyone. I mean, I didn't…" Jacob said. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are."

"Madeleine's been a good friend to me. You know, I'm not from Dublin, and UCD and the city has been a big change from home…"

Tom shut his eyes, wishing and wanting it all to go away. "Jacob, it doesn't matter now. It doesn't. What's done is done. She's going to have this baby. Your baby. And I wanted to talk to you and I wanted to tell you how fecking angry I am. I'm mad at myself. I'm confused. I'm scared for my daughter. But—"

"But?"

"But for Madeleine," Tom inhaled sharply, "I'm biting my tongue. Which, for a man of my age is not always the easiest thing to do. And like I said, I remember being your age. I remember feeling invincible and I remember having…" His voice trailed off, and the two, still walking, seemed to almost stop. "Desires," he finally finished.

"Sir…"

"I never wanted to have to ever say this to anyone. I don't believe this is something a father is ever going to want to have to say, but I'm going to need you to find a way to love her. Not right away. I don't expect that. But Madeleine is a good girl. She always has been. So I trust it won't be that hard for you to make yourself love her. It's just...your carelessness has robbed her of a good marriage, to someone who thinks my daughter is as special as she is. So while friendship is important, she deserves more…"

Jacob sighed. "I don't know if that'll be a problem. She is special. She's really, really...lovely," he settled. "But I can love her all I want and I don't think for a moment that she'll love me back. Somehow all of this has made her hate me. I can't think of how it was before. You know, I saw her after, and everything was so normal. She was happy, and we went to the library to study and I just don't understand how a child has ruined it all."

"The child hasn't ruined anything. It's just changed things. It's put life into perspective. Madeleine's going to have to drop out of school, you know…"

"Will she?"

"She'll have to and you will as well. That is, if you don't enlist. If you enlist, well, either way you're both leaving school. And if you'd be willing to die for others, for the safety and protection of your country, I can't imagine why having to leave university to rear a child would be any different."

"I don't know what to say," Jacob muttered, with eyes that seemed to be stuck forever on the gravel below.

"Well I've never been in war. I've lived through one, as a boy, but I was never sent to fight. I am a father though. And I'm a good father. And I'd venture to say that even the best fathers would say going off to war is the easier of your two options."

~!~

When Sybil found Madeleine, she was shocked not only to see her sitting on the cold linoleum floor below the kitchen sink, but to be out of her room at all. She imagined that all of her children were fast asleep by now and that it was just her husband she was waiting up for. With his absence, and the house now draped in the cool blue of an aging Autumn, Sybil imagined Tom walking around downtown, taking his time in the parks and through the back alleys, his mind only making the decision to return home when he was calm enough to do so. He hadn't told her what it was he planned to talk to Jacob about but she imagined that they would talk, and that Tom's words would be much more harsh than any he had ever dealt his own children.

Sybil liked Jacob. If he hadn't gotten her eldest daughter pregnant, she imagined she would have enjoyed his company even more. As a mother though, she did her best to see whatever it was her daughter saw in him, the easiest of which was the pale color of his cheeks, and the soft smile he wore to brighten them up, that of which worked nicely with his auburn hair. He was tall, possibly even taller than her husband, but not as broad. He was built the way many boys in this town were, with limbs and necks far too long for their bodies. She imagined, as she was sure her daughter had, that he'd soon grow into his own. It was clear his parents were already working to make this happen: sending him off to Ireland's best Catholic University, dressing him well, and assuring he knew all of his table manners.

It occurred to her when Sybil came upon Madeleine, her small form pulled into itself as she wrapped her arms around her bent knees, that this was the first time she had brought a boy into their home. Rian had Ciara, and the two were friends before they were anything else. Ciara attended one of the young nurse's programs with Sybil as counselor, and for this reason, and then many more, she was often in the Branson home. Sybil hated to admit it, but it was most likely more than her or Tom liked to admit, but they hoped they had instilled in their children the wit to take care of themselves when situations of a sexual nature presented themselves. Now, with Madeleine, Sybil had to believe they did, even if all their planning had essentially failed.

"Madeleine, is there a reason you're on my floor? I did just clean, but I'd really prefer you at least take a seat out on the sofa, darling…"

Her daughter said nothing, and barely even lifted her eyes to meet her mother's, though it was clear to Sybil that she was, as usual, crying.

"Mads, c'mon now love, what is it now?" She stopped as she saw her sink was clear and clean. "Thank you for doing the dishes, love," she stated quite simply as she moved to take a seat beside her daughter.

"Was it dinner? Are you mad at your father?" Sybil tried. When Madeleine remained silent, she continued. "Well is it me? Is there something I can do?"

"I don't want to marry Jacob, mum…"

Sybil wrapped an arm around her daughter and pulled the child in. Though almost equal to her in size, she would always be her baby, her little girl, the one that taught her so much about being a woman and mother. Now, she imagined she'd enlighten her on what it was like to be a friend. While Sybil had many acquaintances, beyond Tom and his family, there were few women she actually enjoyed talking to, mostly because she knew they did not enjoy talking to her.

"What would you like to do then, Madeleine?"

"I don't know!" she gave. "But I don't want to marry him. It's not...we can't fix that, this way!"

"Mads, darling, nothing can fix this. You know that right? This will not just go away."

"I know, but maybe I could go somewhere!"

"Where?" Sybil shot back immediately. Already, her words were harsh, but quickly she added more fury to them. "Where?" she tried again.

"I…" Madeleine stopped, swallowing the guilt and spit she had pooling in the back of her throat. "To live with Aunt Edith in London, or…"

"I will not give you to your Aunt Edith. That is an escape, Madeleine Branson, and your father and I did not raise you to be a coward and run from your problems." She sighed, hoping that a failed attempt at rationalization would cause her daughter to see her side of things. "So what? Your father and I send you to your Aunt Edith's? Then what? We're fighting a war, Madeleine. Edith is barely staying in London anymore. Her and your Great Aunt Rosamund are thinking of joining Granmum Cora's family in America. Will you go with them? Then what? I never see you again? You and the baby certainly don't see Jacob? Is that it? Will everything be fixed for you when you're rich but very, very alone?"

"I don't know, Mama!" Madeleine lamented again. "There is no answer!"

"No, my sweet," Sybil sang as she stroked her daughter's chestnut locks, feeling the tresses revert to their curl despite the way she smoothed them back away from her forehead. "There is not. But here, your father and I can help you. Jacob, you know, we can't control him. Whatever he decides to do is his business. But if you're in Ireland, we can watch over you. This will never be perfect, Madeleine. I'm sorry, but it won't be. But if you cooperate, and you try and get through this, we can get you to a point where things are okay."

"Married?" she sobbed, wiping at her nose.

Softly, Sybil shrugged. "I know it seems dreadful. I swore, Madeleine, I swore," she emphasized with teeth gritting, "that I'd never force my children to marry anyone they didn't want to. You know, I want nothing more than for you to find someone you love so you can spend the rest of your life with them. I want that for my children because that's what I was given. But this...you've changed things. This child," Sybil said gently, "has changed things. You're going to be a mother. You're going to find out that the small world you've occupied up until this point is no longer yours alone. And I don't think it'd be the worst thing to have Jacob discover that with you, you know? At least this way, you'll have married a friend."

Madeleine nodded, but did not speak. Her cheeks were turned pink and hot by her mother's words, and her mouth was spread as tears cascaded down her chin. Finally, she looked to Sybil. "I do love him."

Sybil smirked and pulled her daughter in again. With force, she kissed the crown of her head, willing her own eyes to thwart the tears they were contemplating producing. "I know you do."

"I'm in love with him. I feel like I always have been. I mean, first it was a crush, but then we became friends and he was smart and polite, and he came from a good family and when he kissed me I didn't want him to stop…"

Finally, Sybil had no other choice but to let herself cry. Her daughter's admission had broken her, and she had no other option but to spill her sadness out onto the top of Madeleine's head, letting the two girls, women really, cry together.

"Oh, Madeleine…" Sybil finally said as she willed herself to pick up her head and wipe at her under eyes. "That makes me so so sad, darling…"

"I'm sad about a lot of things, mam, but not about that. He was just so slow and gentle and nice. He was patient and for a moment I thought he might actually love me back. And I'm okay with being that delusional. I'm okay with being that stupid girl. I mean, never again, but I had that once. And it was thrilling and it felt good and I felt beautiful…"

"Madeleine, the intention, was that you someday marry a man who makes you feel all of those things every night."

Madeleine's eyes got wide, and she detached from her mother to show the way in which she was struggling with Sybil's frank words. "Every night?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, darling. Every night. Maybe not like that. And after babies, definitely not like that. At least not every night," she repeated. "But in other ways. He'll help you with the nappies and he'll offer to do dishes after supper. He'll hold your hand during mass, and when you walk in the park, he'll press his hand to the small of your back…"

"Mam, I'm...I'm not going to have a marriage like you and dad."

Sybil seemed offended by this, as if her children, her and Tom's children, should all think themselves worthy of such a thing. "Why not?"

"Well not now," Madeleine said, gesturing flatly to her stomach. "And besides, mam, even if I wasn't pregnant. That's...we can't…"

"What?" Sybil choked out.

Madeleine sighed and looked straight ahead again, her eyes trained on the crucifix that hung above the doorway on the far wall. "I think for awhile, I wanted it. Or thought I could have it…" Her voice trailed off, and as Madeleine looked to her mother, she shook her head, feeling silly for even daring to think and then speak these things. "But I mean, not everyone will. I still want to marry someone who loves me and someone who treats me and my children well, but—"

"But?"

"But I'm not you and dad, mam. And Rian and Ciara? Probably won't be you guys either. And maybe that's okay, you know? It's okay not to have this whirlwind romance. You can still be happy, right?"

"Madeleine, I don't understand…"

"It's not really your place to understand, mam. You and Dad have this perfect, all-consuming, just really beautiful love story. And you two fought for one another and you ran away together and you made a life for yourselves. And now you have us. You two have good jobs and you love one another and your kids are doing alright. You've been pretty lucky in that regard so—"

"Lucky?" Sybil asked, pressing a tight hand to her chest. "I am blessed, Madeleine. But your father and I have been through things too, alright? So if we've painted this picture of a flawless marriage and life, it's wrong. We were wrong in doing that," she repeated. " Your father was my best friend before he was anything else. And now he's still my best friend and we still fight and argue and make mistakes. It's what life's all about. And it was hard sometimes and it's still hard. Right now, us watching you go through this, is absolutely tearing me up inside. And he won't say anything, but it's killing your father as well. But those things, even this, makes us stronger. It makes it all just that much more worth it."

Madeleine sighed, and pressed a hand to her mouth as she began to think. "You didn't paint that picture. I just believed in it too strongly. Or held on too tightly, needing it to be true. You know, I thought if I opened up to Jacob in that way, he'd love me. But it only made me fall in love with him more. And he still wants to be friends." Again, she sighed. "You know, I've been trying, but I can't find the strength in this, mam. That night, what Jacob and I did, that was great. And yeah, I did want to do it again. Sometimes I still do. But I've woken up since. I can't be nineteen and stupid forever. There is a child inside of me. A small human who will someday depend on me for probably more than I can ever give it. And I'm still terrified and still sick, and still very ashamed. I was...I was, uh, done with the dishes and I went to go turn out the lights and I thought of how it was possible, if Jacob enlisted, that he could die. And I just started crying, because I was thinking that maybe I could have that marriage I always dreamed about. Maybe some man would love me and my baby, and that would be okay then because after the war, being widowed would be common. I'd be free," she admitted, breathlessly, as she continue to cry, while speaking to the wall, and not her mother.

Sybil said nothing, and could only keep a tight grip around Madeleine's shoulders as she continued to cry. Sybil was crying too, but was doing her best to dab at her nose and conceal just how hurt she was by all of this. Through it all, she half-hoped Tom would walk in, but the more she thought about it, the more selfish she felt, knowing that would provide reprieve only for her.

Finally: "Your father and I didn't wait, you know."

It was this that had Madeleine quickly extending her head upward as she too wiped at her upper lip. "Wha...what?"

"We didn't wait. To have sex," she elaborated. Then, she closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the lazy-susan. The tears she was crying seemed to glue her eyes shut. "Oh, god, please don't ever repeat that. Especially to your Gram. I only tell you because...your father and I are not perfect, Madeleine. We never have been. Yes, I loved him with all of my heart and I felt, when we first made love, that I had waited for the man I was going to marry and spend the rest of my life with. And a few months later, we did get married, but that first night, no, we were not married. I had only been in Dublin a week or two. Before then, it was touch and go. We'd been apart for a very long time…"

Something in her mother's words had Madeleine letting out a small laugh. Sybil took notice, and looked at her daughter, hoping she hadn't mistaken the laugh for another cry.

"Madeleine?" Sybil tried again, but only when her daughter's laughter died down, and nothing but silence followed it. "Did I—"

"He is such...a hypocrite."

"Oh, Madeleine, please…"

"No, mam!" Madeleine yelled now. "He is! What if you'd been pregnant? What then?"

"Then we'd move up the ceremony. That was a bit different, love. I'd known your father for many years at that point. We had plans..."

"But you were not married," she repeated harshly.

"Madeleine, please!" Sybil begged. "I did not tell you that so you could throw this back in my face—"

"Not your face, mam! His! Do you know he's barely said a word to me since I told him? You know how close Daddy and I are! It's not fair! When I needed him most, he's left me alone! It's just not fair…"

"Mads, please, alright? He's just very hurt. And he's scared for you…"

"Well he has a piss-poor way of showing it!"

"Madeleine!"

"I am sorry, mam, but I can't do it anymore. If he's so ashamed of me then…"

"Then what, Madeleine?" Sybil asked with a sigh. "What then? Will you leave? Where will you go?"

"Back to school for awhile. I can't be in this house. At least there, Jacob and I can talk about things…"

"Fine!" Sybil shouted back.

Madeleine heaved, and once again took in her mother's posture, that of a woman standing, and declaring defeat. "What?" she asked.

"I said, fine, Madeleine! You're not a child anymore. Do as you please. I was on your side and I am still on your side and as your mother I will always be on your side, but I cannot help a child who does not want help. And again, I cannot watch my daughter and my husband wage war on one another over things they cannot change. I've watched men in this country do the same thing since I got here and it is exhausting!"

"Alright," Madeleine nodded. She moved for the door and wrapped her cardigan closer around her frame as she too hugged herself. "Fine," she said back.

"You can leave in the morning…"

Sybil's voice trailed off as Madeleine looked up, her gaze catching upon her father's as he ascended the steps leading up from the front door. Like her own, his shoulders hung heavy, but he attempted to smile at his daughter, which ultimately pushed her quickly down the hallway toward her old bedroom.

In her absence, Sybil sighed, and leaned back against the countertop as she began to weep into her hands. Instantly, she felt Tom beside her, the chill from his soft jacket, working to comfort her when she too felt so cold.

"What's going on?" he tried as he forced her eyes to look up at his by repositioning her chin.

As she spoke, Tom wiped at her eyelids with the rough pads of his large thumbs. "I don't know," Sybil shrugged. "We were having such a lovely chat, and I just thought if I was honest with her…"

Tom's eyes darkened as they searched his wife's face for an answer. "Honest?"

"I told her about us, love. You know, about how we made love...before…"

Sybil didn't have to finish for Tom to know how the story ended. The one thing he couldn't stop thinking about since their daughter first gave them her news was now the same thing she most likely fumed over while getting ready for bed. "Syb...why would you do that? What was that meant to help?"

"Her…" Sybil tried. "It was meant to help her. I thought if I told her the truth, she'd feel less bad and—"

"Well does she?" Sybil blinked and Tom continued. "Feel less bad, I mean."

"I don't know," Sybil shrugged. "Probably not."

"And you? Do you feel any better?"

"No," Sybil said as she now looked to the floor, avoiding her husbands eyes completely. "I feel awful."

"Alright," Tom nodded. As he grabbed for his wife's hand and went to wrap his other arm around her shoulders, his entire body softened. "Me too."

What could possibly be misconstrued as tough love or even bullying, was actually Tom's way of admitting that he too was not okay, and as they made their way silently into their bedroom for the night, he found himself hoping that the lack of light and clothing would quickly work to change things just as soon as the door was shut behind them.

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

_**Crash Into Me_ gets updated next, though when, I have no idea. That chapter is being stubborn, to say the least.

x. Elle


	5. Ceasefire

**A/N****:** Hi! Sorry it has been awhile. I've had this saved just haven't felt like posting - to be honest. But you can thank my insomnia for this chapter...

We're nearing the end of this story. I imagine there will be two more chapters after this one. Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed. To think that a simple prompt brought this on is so amusing, but I am grateful that this has developed in the way that it has. I appreciate all of the support.

Enjoy! x

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><p>With the door shut behind them, Tom helped Sybil out of her clothes. Naked, and still weeping, he swiped at her under eyes with the pads of his thumbs, before slowly draping her nightgown over her bare form. As she moved toward their bed, the moonlight cast her skin in a warm blue, causing her legs and waist to silhouette beneath the sheer material of her cotton dress.<p>

In bed, she slid beneath the duvet and watched as Tom stepped out of his shirt and trousers, and began to walk to her in just his underwear. Twenty years of marriage did not change the way, even in sadness, she wanted him. Here, where she couldn't force the ache in her abdomen to subside, Sybil was somehow able to force a smile, one that continued as he got into bed beside her and immediately enveloped her in his arms. There she continued to sob, soft, mewing cries into his neck as he kissed her forehead and smoothed back her hair. He was speechless, but his lips found other ways to be reassuring, several times after Sybil leaned up into him, presenting her mouth to his like an offering he couldn't help but to seize.

No longer did her chest heave, and eventually, the couple found themselves on their sides, facing in to one another, with limbs still holding one another close as Sybil let a palm rest reassuringly against her husband's cheek. He sighed at the contact, but still was unable to to say much. All that fell from his mouth was "I love you," and when it came, he couldn't stop. It was benediction and release, and through her final tears, she smiled, and he joined her, the two of them thankful for one another in such a chaotic world.

"I yelled at her, Tom…" Sybil tried. "I raised my voice to our daughter. I spoke to her like she was a child and in doing so, it was what I became."

"Syb, love…" Tom managed, kissing her hands before bringing them down to clasp within his own upon the small bit of mattress that separated them. "She is a child."

"Not anymore, she's not. Our baby is having a baby, Tom. She's going to be a mother and a wife..."

"Just because she'll be married and with child, doesn't mean she'll be a wife and a mother."

Sybil blinked tightly. When she opened her eyes, Tom was motionless still, waiting for her to respond. He wouldn't give her an elaboration, or offend her by reiterating what it was he had just said. She heard him, and now it was time for him to pay her the same respect.

"We have to help her, Tom. I can't abandon her. If Jacob…" A hiccup of sorrow caught them both off guard, hindering Sybil's words from continuing to spill out. "We could say it's mine, maybe? We could send her to America, perhaps? Or with Edith. We'll say she's helping family during the war. Being a nurse. And I'll feign a pregnancy and then, when the child comes, I will treat it as my own."

"Sybil," Tom said with dark eyes, "I will not have you carry her burden. She will marry Jacob and that will be the end of it. The boy has told me he doesn't plan on enlisting. He seems to be extremely shaken by all of this and he just wants to do what is right."

Sybil's eyes narrowed, a product of confusion, and slight offense at her husband's words. "Are you on his side now?"

"I'm not on anyone's side, love. I'm on your side. You and me, right?" Sybil smirked so Tom continued. "Whatever you want to do…"

"I don't want to have to do any of this, Tom. But it occurred to me tonight that I can't force my daughter to marry someone she doesn't love. I was once put in that position. I told you that. If you hadn't proposed and given me options, I'd be married to Larry Grey now."

Tom rolled his eyes, but also kissed his wife's knuckles. "That was a decision you made, love. I just...I was there to help you through it."

"Well I want our daughter to be able to make her own decisions. I want her to marry for love and have babies with a man that treats her well. She deserves those things and I don't want this to haunt her for the rest of her life…"

Tom reached forward. Momentarily he was taken out of the moment and distracted by the way in which Sybil's hair matted against her pillowcase. Bothered by its imperfection, he smoothed it back, and in doing so, cradled her face in his hands. As she softened into him, his heart warmed, and the grip he had on her hipbone became more strong.

"I think she loves him. I think she loves him very much, actually," Tom said, as if to correct himself.

"She does," Sybil nodded. "She's in love with him, the poor girl."

"She told you?"

"She did. She's...it's sad, Tom. I think she just thought if…"

It was Tom's turn to nod. "Of course she did, love. Our daughter may be brave and bold and independent, but I find it hard to believe that even our Madeleine would just give herself to anyone. She's always known what she wanted, but you can't fault her for being a girl."

"A girl?" Sybil asked, her eyebrow quirked in contest. "I once knew a boy who gave his heart quite willingly to a girl he'd only ever driven around. I don't think matters of the heart take gender into consideration, love," Sybil teased.

"Aye," Tom sighed. "Yes, well, I can't fault her for that. But I know that life and it's not an easy one."

"Well I'm here now, aren't I?" Sybil asked sweetly. "We worked it all out. I came around eventually."

"Yeah," he exhaled again. "You're here and I still sometimes have to pinch myself to see if this is all real. This life we've built and this home and our children. I'm in awe of it."

"Maybe Jacob will come around. Maybe he'll realize he does love her. Or he can grow to love her. I didn't think it was possible but I somehow fell even more in love with you after we had children."

"We had a stronger foundation, love. There wasn't war. We were friends for a very, very long time before I was even allowed to kiss you…"

Sybil giggled. "You poor dear," she mused, pressing a caressing hand to his cheek in jest. "Was that hard for you?"

Boldly, and without warning, Tom straddled Sybil, making sure not to rest all of his weight upon her as he held her wrists into the mattress. She felt him though, all of his want pressing softly into her hip. "You have no idea, love," he growled. She smirked and leaned up to kiss him, essentially accepting her fate.

Just as they had so many times before, the two made love, taking their time to allow fingers to pass over skin, all of it so familiar and gentle. Early years of marriage had allowed them adventure, time and volume, all of which they were forced to forfeit as children came and then aged. It did not make them bitter, however, and the space and intimacy they were allotted was treasured, and made all that more special when both were able to realize the same sparks they'd once ignited by simple glances still existed here in Dublin, amongst the life they created together outside of Downton.

In the aftermath of it all, with the room eerily still and Sybil curled into her husband, both of them still very much exposed, she drew circles on his chest and up and down his shoulders and arms. He watched her, pressing kisses to her temple and neck, before the two were once again lost in it all, breathing in deeply to satiate their lungs' need for oxygen.

"I have an idea…" Tom said softly as Sybil finally settled back into him.

Hearing this, she looked up to him. He found she was more curious than anything else, and the original trepidation he felt at returning to their previous topic vanished as he inhaled sharply, ready to share his thoughts.

"Downton."

"What about Downton?"

"Her and Jacob can go stay at Downton. You said with the war that your parents are seeing yet another decrease in staff. Your father is in London most of the time, and surely your mother would like the company with him gone. She's been lonely since Mary and Matthew moved out, and you know how much she loves Madeleine. I just thought…" He stopped, studying his wife's features and the way in which not much had changed about them since he began speaking. "Is it an absolutely rubbish idea? I'm sorry…"

"No," Sybil revealed softly. "No," it came again, this time with a small shake of her head. "It's a good idea. I like it a lot. I just...I'm surprised you thought of it."

Tom smirked and once again, kissed the bridge of Sybil's hand. "And why is that?"

"Because I don't think you'd ever condone sending our daughter away, especially to Downton. And the war...I just thought you'd want her close. With family."

"She'll be with family," Tom assured soundly. "Your mam and Isobel are still there. That new gentleman studying beneath Dr. Clarkson can birth the child. She'll be in good hands. You once were," he nudged. But his face grew serious once more. "I just don't know if this is the place for her right now."

"Dublin?" Sybil's voice cracked. "This is our home, Tom…"

"I know, and it can be her home someday too, but the judgement…" He sighed. "I don't know if it's worth it. I'd rather her go away for a year. People won't know her there and she'll be in the countryside and by the time everyone even takes notice of her, she'll be able to come back, and by then, everyone around here will just accept what's happened."

"But if her and Jacob marry, then what's the difference?"

"Where would they live, Sybil?"

"Where would they and the child live when they return? Wouldn't that be a more difficult transition?"

Tom chuckled. "I thought you liked this idea…"

"I'm only trying to think it all through."

"If they go away, we can work something out while they're gone," Tom explained. "It's just, I'm terrified…"

"Of?" Sybil asked with raised eyebrows.

"Mass."

This had her laughing, so hard that she reached a hand up to clasp her mouth shut. Finally: "I'm sorry," she managed through another exasperated giggle. "You've always been scared of Mass, darling. And in your defense, it is scary sometimes. But I hardly think it's something Madeleine and Jacob can't handle. All of those women love babies and they love Madeleine."

"But they talk, Sybil! That's what they do! They smile and bless you and ask how things are, and then you walk away, and they judge."

"You worry too much!" Sybil brushed off.

"I don't worry too much," Tom said quickly. "You're still so naive!"

"Tom!" Sybil warned.

"I'm sorry, love, but you forgive too easily! You remember the things my mam told us they said about you…"

"Yes, and now I've helped many of those women's children and grandchildren give birth. I've taught those women how to nurse and fed their children when they were sick, or rocked their babes when they were ill."

"And what has Madeleine done for them?"

"She's a child! She doesn't have to do anything for them. Isn't that the point of being Catholic? You do your damndest to love those, especially those in hardship, because they need it most?"

"Oh, so she's back to being a child now, yeah?"

"Well, it's her life. Why don't we give her options? Nothing is desirable, but maybe she'll see things we haven't. That's fair, right? My parents didn't give me options…"

"You weren't pregnant with my child at that point."

"No, I wasn't," Sybil said softly, her voice sounding equal parts contemplative and earnest.

In seeing Sybil was suddenly lost, Tom reached forward again, this time running a finger along her hairline to once again push at stray hairs there that were threatening to fall down toward her eyes. The motion forced Sybil to look up, and instinctually force a smile. She probably wasn't even aware that she had done it, but just as quickly she was gone again, distracted by a thought she had yet to share with Tom, one she didn't need to share — he knew exactly what it was that was eating at her.

"Love?"

She blinked and was brought back to him, back to this bed, and the warmth of his embrace. Another smile, one she wore as she leaned forward to kiss him, needing his lips to reassure her.

"Where'd you go?"

"Are we…" There was hesitation, but she persisted. "Are we hypocritical? I mean, are we just like them?"

"Why? Because I had you before marriage?"

Sybil smirked. "Well, yes…"

"You're not. You've been nothing but kind to Madeleine. You've been understanding and loving. But me? Yeah. I'm a hypocrite."

"Tom, that's not what I meant…" Sybil tried with a palm pressed to his cheek once more.

"No, but it's the truth. You know, I won't accept these parallels she's drawing. You drew the same one that first night and I just need to separate the two. My relationship with you and our marriage is nothing like her and Jacob—"

"She said the same thing…"

"What?"

"She said the same thing," Sybil repeated. "She said that she knows she'll never have what we have...and I don't even know what that means. I don't know what we've shown her that makes her think love is so out of reach. I thought we had done the opposite. She was created from it, raised by it, and showered in it as she aged. What more could we have done?"

"No more than we did all of those times before. When we made love and we were not yet husband and wife."

Sybil's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

Heavily, Tom exhaled. "It's done, Syb. It doesn't matter what we once did. What matters is that our daughter is pregnant. We can't change these things, you know. We can only make better decisions from here."

"Can I make a suggestion then?"

He nodded and kissed her temple. "Of course."

"Talk to her, Tom. Tell her you love her and that she is your baby girl and that you are on her side."

"I...I don't know if I can, Syb."

"If not for her, then for me?" It happened; Sybil was crying again. Her hands, previously caressing her husband's bare skin, reached up to cover and dab at her wet eyes. "You know, I used to be so jealous of you two. I loved her and I know she loved me in the way all children love their mothers, but god Tom, she adored you. From the time she was born, she constantly wanted to be with you, to be held by you, fed by you. I used to think if I wasn't there, she'd probably be fine. Of course I know that's not true, but I couldn't help but to believe that sometimes. And now you two won't even speak to one another. She needs you! I just know if you tell her it will all be alright, she may actually trust it. And she is far too young to believe it won't all work out. Far too young," Sybil repeated with teeth that grinded and red cheeks that pushed out more tears.

"Alright," Tom sighed, pulling Sybil close once more. "I'll talk to her."

~!~

Madeleine's fist was balled, not just for echo, but out of anger, and as it rapped against the wooden door of Jacob's dormitory, she found herself praying, for many different reasons, that he just appear already. When he finally did, and she saw he had not yet dressed for bed, her face battled itself, settling somewhere between relief and curiosity as she pushed past him and made her way inside.

"Mads, are you okay?"

She sat quickly atop his bed. "M'fine."

When Jacob said nothing, she continued. "I just can't be home tonight. I can't be around them. My mam and dad are...they're hypocrites and I didn't know where else to go, and I know this is very against the rules and I'm sorry but—"

"It's alright," Jacob said calmly. "I'm actually glad you came."

"You…" Madeleine looked up and blinked. Her eyes narrowed at the mere sight of him, so cool and collected as if his child was not growing in her belly. "What?"

"I wanted to talk to you and to apologize. I've already written my parents and I'm going to explain everything to them. Your dad seems to think that I want you to carry the blame of this on your own and that's not the truth so—"

"No," Madeleine said weakly. "What I mean is, please don't write them."

"Madeleine, he's right, okay? It's not fair that your parents know and help you in this way and my parents—"

"They'll cast you off, Jake. You need your inheritance from them, alright? This baby deserves that money. I'm sorry, I don't care if that comes off a certain way…"

"I thought about that but they can't take it away from me. That's money my grandparents left for me and they have no say over me receiving it. They can stop paying for school and then can kick me out of the house, but that money will still be mine. We can still use it for the baby and you know, maybe I can still go to school. Or you can!" Jacob said quickly, only after realizing how selfish he sounded. Somehow though, even before the correction, Madeleine was smiling, and ever so gently, she reached up to palm his cheek.

"I know this is scary, Jake, and I am sorry for that. But I have a lot of respect for you right now. For even talking to me after that awful dinner with my parents. For letting me come to talk to you here. It's late and you have rowing in the morning and—"

Quickly, Jacob leaned in and seized Madeleine's lips against his. It was rushed, and altogether fleeting, but the few seconds of impact had both of them pulling away slowly as their fingers, so inexperienced, nervously rested against the quilted comforter atop Jacob's bed.

"I'm sorry," he said awkwardly as he blinked, taking snapshots of the too-white wall, illuminated by the small lamp on his desk. "Sometimes you talk too much."

"You don't talk enough," she offered. "I never know what you're thinking or feeling…"

"Right now?"

Madeleine finally looked to him. "What?"

He returned her gaze. "Right now," he said with a small nod. "Do you want to know what I'm thinking right now?"

"Sure," she practically whispered.

"Okay," Jacob nodded again as he turned to face the wall again. "I'm thinking about your parents."

Madeleine's nose scrunched upward in disgust and she looked to Jacob in haste. "What? Why?"

"I didn't grow up around that, Mads. You know how my parents are. I don't think I've ever seen them kiss one another. They don't hold hands. They don't even really smile at one another."

"Jake…"

"It's fine. I just thought that's how parents were. You know, I thought maybe they were in love at some point but that being married means that goes away when you have kids. They loved me and that's what was important."

"Can I say something?"

"Of course," Jacob swallowed. "Yeah, whatever you have to."

Madeleine smirked and looked forward again. "It was magical growing up around my parents. Magical, Jake. And I want that. I want someone to look at me the way my dad looks at my mam. I think all girls should have that. And all boys for that matter. I want my brothers to marry girls as good as my mam. Girls that will take care of them and challenge them and love them when that may not be what they deserve."

"I want that. All of that," Jacob said, his voice practically shaking. "I want you, Mads."

She looked up to him, her tongue pressed firmly to the back of her front teeth as her eyes grew wide in both terror and sadness, but that of the overwhelming kind, that paints the cheeks in rouge and makes breathing just that much more rapid and uneven. "Jacob, please, you don't know what you're saying, alright?"

"No," he conceded, "for awhile, I didn't know. For awhile all I knew was that you were pretty and smart. I liked your smile and I liked how kind you were to everyone. But after awhile, I found I couldn't stop thinking of those things and the more I tried, the harder it became. And that night, when we…" His voice trailed off. "I thought that'd be the end. I thought I had a crush on you or that this was lust. And I felt guilty afterward. Not because I was shite at it, though I was and I'm sorry for that."

Madeleine chuckled and wiped away a tear. "S'okay."

"You deserved better than that. Than your dorm bed. And I left because I thought you didn't want me there but I stood outside of your door for the longest time, Mads. I thought I'd be gallant and invite myself back in. I just wanted to hold you and I wanted you to help me understand what I was feeling. I thought you were so embarrassed and that you wouldn't even want to be my friend but then the next morning you were so strong and we went to study and I could barely breathe on the way to the library and I just remembered thinking that this must be what love feels like because I hated the feeling but it was made better by you. And I was just really overwhelmed, I guess…"

"Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop talking, alright?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Sure." Then: "Sorry…"

Madeleine chuckled. "It's fine."

Silence settled between them, and it was Jacob who moved first, walking to his desk to turn off the lamp before heading for the closet to grab for what looked like a sleeping bag.

"Jake?" Madeleine tried.

"What?" he asked. "Is this not okay? I mean, you were going to stay here, right?"

"Yeah, I just...there's the bed…"

Slowly, he nodded, as if to grasp it all. "Yeah...yeah, there is."

"I mean, we don't have to."

"Have to?"

"Sleep in the bed together," she clarified. "I know it's small, I just think it'd be more comfortable than sleeping on the floor."

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he said indignantly.

Madeleine studied his face before giving him a similar nod. "Alright. But what if I want you to sleep on the bed with me?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I have felt very, very alone for the past week and I'd like to not feel alone for a night."

"Yeah, okay," Jacob nodded. "Whatever you want."

"If you don't want to—"

"No, I do."

"Do you have a shirt I can sleep in?"

"A shirt?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Anything. This skirt is hardly comfortable…"

"Here," he offered, handing her a sleep shirt that had three small buttons near the neck. "Mum washed it when I was home last week. Still smells of lavender..."

Madeleine took the shirt and brought it to her nose to smell it. He was right, and the scent was comforting, and the fabric made soft by it. "Turn around," she instructed quietly.

"What?"

"Turn around," she tried again, this time with a knowing smirk.

"Alright," Jacob sighed.

He obliged and when he turned around, he did his best not to focus on the shadows the moonlight was allowing Madeleine to make on the wall opposite the window. Somehow, her being exposed at a distance made him far more nervous than he ever had been before, even when her body was merely skin, electric against his own as the two moved and sighed in their search for ecstasy. He wanted her then, but needed her now, and fought the urge to reach out for her even as she allowed him to turn around and he watched her walk to his bed and get beneath the covers.

"Turn around," he returned.

"No way," Madeleine shook her head with a strong smile. "It doesn't work like that."

"What does that mean?" Jacob yelped. "Don't oogle me, Madeleine…" he teased, feigning covering himself up, which only caused Madeleine to drop her head down to his pillow and laugh.

"Jacob Rafferty, I have never known you to be modest."

"You're right," he said confidently. "My body's about the only thing I've got going for me."

"Ehhh, debatable," Madeleine said with a small shrug. As she did, Jacob got into bed beside her, but only after turning off the light and opening the window, allowing the early Autumn rain which had just begun to fall to hit the screen and splash down toward the flowerbeds below.

"Is this okay?" he whispered. He had just pulled up the covers, but Madeleine was almost sure he was talking about the way he was without a shirt. She could only nod, but it was her bold move that brought him closer, resting her hand on the curve of his stomach that turned into his hip.

"I'm sorry you felt so alone, Madeleine…"

"It's okay, Jake."

"No, it's not," he whispered back. "I have been trying to prove to you that I'm good enough and that I'm worthy and I just keep falling short."

"You don't have to prove anything to me, alright? You have things to prove to our son or daughter, but not to me."

"What do you think it'll be?"

"What?" Madeleine choked out.

"Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "My dad will want a boy."

Jacob let out a small chuckle, but his height, and the way in which Madeleine was now awkwardly laying upon his chest with all of her body curled into his side, caused the bed to shake. "Is it his decision?"

"He always gets his way."

"Well, I think you're wrong…"

"You always think I'm wrong," she joked, smacking Jacob's arm in reprimand.

"No...well, yeah, I do," he said, exhaling another small laugh. "But about your dad. I think he'll want a girl. You know, if he has a say…"

Madeleine studied Jacob. She stared at the way there was just the lightest bit of stubble forming a boundary around his lips, that of which were pink, and with a bottom lip far more plump than the top. His hair was beginning to muss, and the way in which he usually combed it off his forehead ceased to matter as the night had different plans and pieced the tresses separately, away from his hairline completely.

"Your dad loves you, Mads."

"I don't want to talk about my dad right now."

"Okay," he nodded. "Sorry."

For awhile, nothing more was said, and without looking to her, Jacob figured from the slow tempo of Madeleine's breathing, that she had already dozed off.

"What did he say to make you say that to me?" she asked, her words begging that he give her the truth despite the fact that previously, she seemed averse to it. At the sound of her voice, the darkness surrounding them became less harsh, bringing the room and its two occupants into a sharp focus.

"He didn't have to say much. I can just tell. He's worried about you. He wants what's best for you but he's scared. And I can't really blame him. I'm scared too."

Madeleine nodded, and in doing so, nuzzled into Jacob's chest, wrapping her arms more tightly around him. "Me too."

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

x. Elle


	6. In The Trenches

**A/N****: **None of you really seemed to be too keen on the thought of this story ending soon. That's just how I've planned it, but that being said, there are a couple more chapters. My end goal is the same, but based on reader feedback I have decided to extend a certain aspect of this. So thank you to all of you who review and continue to follow and favorite this story. I definitely never thought it would be as popular as it is and it's certainly been lovely sharing it.

For those of you who wanted _Crash Into Me_ updated first: I plan on updating that sometime this week. That chapter update is contingent upon the response to this. _Don't You Mind? _will be updated next week.

**There's a bit of Irish in this, but I have faith that you all will be able to handle it! :]

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><p>On the way back to the Branson home the following morning, Jacob nervously reached for Madeleine's hand. It was awkward, and shy, and the eldest Branson daughter couldn't help but to blush at how they had somehow maintained their childhood innocence regardless of the fact that they had originally skipped all of this and gone on to much more intimate, albeit less experience based, facets of life. It was nice though, especially as the sun did its best to pass through the clouds, to walk together and smile and talk about their studies. And they did so with the knowledge that both were choosing to ignore the possibility that they'd both no longer be students by the time Madeleine began to show. She was already almost two months along, and in the middle of the night, when the two were up talking, Madeleine found she couldn't quite remember what her mother looked like pregnant. She was too young when Rian was born, and the twins were not a fair representation of how the Crawley women held their baby weight.<p>

At the steps, Jacob turned to Madeleine, and it was here the two dropped hands. Palms, still sweaty, sought one another out in a different way, as Madeleine reached up to caress Jacob's cheek and put a hand to the back of his neck as she softly seized his lips. He pulled away and smiled just as his hands fell to her hips, keeping her body still as the kiss deepened.

This was where Tom found them, as he opened the door ready to grab the paper from the same top step the two stood entangled upon. He was stoic, and he made no sound, but his posture told a different story, as the hands clutching the door tightened their grasp on the thick wood.

"Madeleine, you've missed breakfast."

"Yes, well we had things to do."

"Sir…"

"Don't," Tom bit, his mouth and body both refusing to move, instead allowing his eyes to do most of the talking. "Inside," he spat, now only casting his glance upon his daughter.

Very suddenly she became small, with the same hands that previously kept Jacob close now folded behind her back as she quickly kissed Jacob's cheek before running inside. Tom gave one last look to Jacob, a glance that told nothing other than a simple goodbye, before grabbing his paper and shutting the door.

Madeleine ran upstairs, her petite form scurrying toward the kitchen where the rest of her siblings sat. Tom joined them, pouring himself yet another cup of coffee as the children listened to the radio broadcast. First, it was a play, then music, all of which was interrupted several times by advertisements and news updates. There was something unsettling about it for Tom, who found that the longer the war went on and the less affected Ireland seemed, the more he felt his country was in danger. It was unlikely they'd remain neutral for all of it, and if by chance that did occur, he doubted it would change the way the land and its people were treated. Already he had been given leads about IRA members sending telegrams, and some of them actual supplies, to enemy troops in Germany and Poland. To think that the war had only just begun was to belittle the opportunities so quickly taken by men and women that lived on this same block.

"Where's mam?" Madeleine asked quickly, her words hurried, showing she was slightly out of breath. It was a trend Tom recognized from when Sybil was pregnant, recalling a particular night after love-making when a combination of the activity and their shared laughter had Sybil nearly choking to gain back steady breathing.

"Writing a letter," Aine gave quickly.

"To who?"

"Mind your own, Madeleine," Tom said quickly. He topped off his coffee once more before exiting the kitchen, taking the now full mug and one just like it filled with tea, to the bedroom he shared with Sybil.

Inside, he used his back to close the door before slowly walking to Sybil. She was sitting at his desk, her hair pouring over one shoulder, wearing one of his jumpers as her legs remained folded beneath her. She had been sitting like this for as long as he could remember, and he smirked, wondering if it would continue into their old age as well. He hoped that would be the case.

"Love?"

"Hi," she sighed out. "Can you read this over for me?"

Tom stepped into her and set the drinks down. At both the sight and smell of the hot drink, Sybil reached for the mug and sat back, sipping at the beverage as Tom reached out for the letter she had been working on since the two awoke that same morning.

_Dear Isobel,_

_I hope everyone is well. I have not seen Mary and Matthew and George since Easter. I do ask that you keep us in mind as updates come in with everyone. I cannot tell if Mary's hesitance to correspond is pure forgetfulness, or mail at this time, but I would like to know how everything is going. _

_Tom and I will be bringing the children for Christmas this year but it is likely you may see us sooner, that is, if you are so generous as to agree with what I am about to ask and offer._

_Madeleine has found herself in quite the predicament. She is with child, about two months along I'd say, and we're at a loss with how to properly proceed. All we know is that she can't stay here. Dublin, and Ireland in general, will not be kind to her. There are too many eyes in this city, and I'd hate to see how the church treats her when they discover she is with child and without a husband._

_We do know the boy. His name is Jacob, and from what I can tell, he is kind and really quite intelligent. He and Madeleine have been friends since she started university last year, but beyond that, I think even she is uncertain of their relationship. _

_I know this is asking a lot, and please, do not hesitate to say no. I can't promise that if I were in your shoes, I'd be willing to take it on, but is there anyway the two can come stay with you for awhile? I thought of asking my parents, but if they agreed, the two would be far too comfortable. Not that Tom or I want our grandchild to be brought up in a cruel world, but we know with you not only would Madeleine receive quality medical care during her pregnancy, but she'd also be forced to take care of the home and cook and clean. Tom and I would, of course, pay for her expenses. Jacob, I believe, comes from a bit of money, so I can only hope he has figured all of that out. I can not ask him to provide for himself, but I can assure you I'll have no problem telling the boy he will be of the utmost help to you. I believe he also knows how to drive a car, so that will be a treat with Matthew and Mary in London. _

_Please do not think us poor parents. I don't know how this happened and for awhile, it seemed Madeleine did not know either. Of course I went over everything with her, and she assures me that they were safe, but children, I am finding, cannot be watched all the time. At her age, all of that frightened me a bit, but I understand that curiosity happens and all of it is perfectly natural. I just really believe this to be bad luck. So many girls do far worse things…_

_Tom and I will await your reply. You've always been such a good friend to us and our family, and we are blessed and truly grateful for that, and if the answer be no, please let there be no hard feelings. It is taking me all of my pride to even write this letter, and I know Tom agrees when I say that we appreciate you even taking the time to read it._

_In case you are wondering, no, we have not told my parents. To be honest, Tom's family is not yet aware either. Obviously they'll know soon enough, but I did not want to alert them unless it was absolutely necessary. If you agree to this, I'll let them know then. If not, well, they'll know anyway. _

_You just have to understand that we wish we could be there for her. She has agreed to marry Jacob, and I hope that in doing that, the two will find a way to love one another. I don't doubt, however, that they'll be able to love that child. _

_Downton once brought Tom and I much safety and even some happiness. Madeleine needs that, and I'd much prefer our grandchild to be born there, than in Dublin._

_Tom and I just really believe this is what is right._

_Most respectfully,_

_Sybil Branson_

"Thanks for speaking for me, love…" Tom drawled.

Sybil was leaning back, hugging her knees to her chest in a way that supported her as she sat on the chair neglecting the stiff wooden backing. Tom noted how this would never be a position she held while with the children, but with him, she still found ways to be the young girl he fell in love with, reminding them that though things were once more simple, they were certainly not easier.

"What would you like me to change?"

"Nothing," he smirked as he laid the paper back on the desk. "It's fine. It's grand." His glance moved from the letter to his wife.

"Tom…" Sybil said as she moved to stand. "Love, you need to talk to her."

"I don't want to talk to her. She was just on our stoop kissing him."

"Jacob?"

"Yes, Jacob," Tom shot back, his tone indicative of the fact that for a moment he was offended that Sybil could insinuate it could be any other boy.

"Well, darling, they are going to get married. And she is pregnant. You, as her father, need to come to terms with these things"

"I have never kissed you in front of your father," Tom said strongly.

"No, but we've done other things," Sybil whispered. Her small fingers were gently playing with the buttons on Tom's shirt. "In my father's house," she finished.

"And we were married," Tom corrected.

"In the car…" Sybil reminded with a voice that was suddenly saccharine, like a song. "We weren't married then…"

"That was…"

"Tom, you had your hand under my knickers in my father's car!" Sybil finally said and there was nothing sweet or innocent about it. Her posture changed too, with her hands dropping down to her sides and her voice becoming less soft. In fact, she stood much in the way a soldier would — stiff, tall, and waiting for further instruction.

Sybil huffed before continuing. "She's a girl, Tom! Forget the fact that she's pregnant, alright? Remember what it is like to be her age."

"I don't want to remember what it's like to be her age. Because that means I'm remembering what it's like to be Jacob's age, and he's not allowed to have those thoughts."

"Oh, he's not? Well he does. Because boys do. And girls do. Everyone, eventually, has those thoughts, Tom! Get over yourself! Would you be upset if you saw Rian on the steps kissing Ciara?"

"Rian's not pregnant."

"No, but he's your son. And he's younger than Madeleine is…"

Tom sighed. "That's not fair," he warned.

"No," Sybil scolded. "You're not being fair. I understand that this is difficult for you and for all fathers to a certain degree, I imagine. But please remember how upset you were at my father's exclusion of you. I'm not asking you to admit that to anyone but me, but you know how that feels. So what if they were kissing on the steps? That's a good thing, right? We have always wanted our children to be loved and to be happy. Are they being delusional? Perhaps. But we can't win here. Actually, we've already lost. Are they faking love? Probably. I don't know what to think. But I know there's no sense in me telling her to slow down. That is a battle I will not fight."

At seeing Sybil so distraught, Tom softened, particularly moving so he was close to her. She sighed too, as if to apologize for the way in which she'd just spoken to him. As she had told Isobel, this certainly was not an easy decision, and as Tom read the letter and now allowed moments to slowly pass by them, he became less and less confident in the decision they'd made last night. He knew it was not the best one, but he doubted the possibility of a better option existing, that of which made him sad for Sybil, and sad for his daughter Madeleine as well.

Tom's hands rested on Sybil's shoulders, but moved upward to gently cup her neck. Tenderly, his thumbs brushed back at the waves of hair that covered Sybil's ears, and the feeling of his roughened skin upon her earlobes nearly had Sybil weeping. Instead, she closed her eyes, enjoying as Tom leaned in once more to kiss her lips.

It was sweet and prolonged, with both of them hesitant to pull away, even as the door creaked open, alerting them that they were no longer alone.

At the threshold, Madeleine stood back, no longer ashamed to see her parents lost in such silent intimacy.

"Mam? Dad?" she tried. "I'm sorry, I, uh—"

"It's fine, Mads," Sybil said, smiling in a way that caused the child's shoulders to relax. "What is it?"

"This is...well, I guess that…"

"Madeleine?" He wasn't irritated, but his attempt to comfort the child, and coax the words out of her, were certainly not delivered with a patient tongue.

"Jacob and I went to the GRO this morning. We've been married."

Tom's throat went dry. "You...what?"

"I'm sorry. It's not what I wanted—"

Sybil swallowed. "Wha...what?"

"Well, I did. We talked it over and it's what we both thought was right. You know, people are going to be shocked anyway, so…"

"So that's where you were last night?" Tom asked bitterly. "At Jacob's?"

"Where else would I be?" she gave back. "Honestly. And you knew that and you didn't come find me. What if I wasn't there? What if I had gone to get an abortion? I could be dead at the bottom of the harbor right now!"

"Don't use that word in this house, Madeleine."

"It's a medical procedure, Dad—"

"It's a cowardly way to handle this issue."

"So I'm a coward? I've done everything you asked!"

"Go leor! Both of you!" Sybil screamed, with eyes that were now shut tight again. "I am sick of the fighting. You're both acting like children!"

"She—"

"Páistí!" Sybil enunciated.

"Gram's here," Madeleine stated bluntly as she took a step back.

"What?" Tom's eyes were wide and his breathing quickened.

"She's in the kitchen."

"Jesus Christ!" Tom let out, now looking to his wife for guidance.

"No worry!" Sybil exclaimed cheerily as she clapped her hands together in acceptance of all that was and was about to occur. "I'll take care of her. While you two talk."

"Mam—"

"I don't want to hear it," Sybil practically sang as she glided toward the door, light on her feet. She was nearly in the hallway now, with just her head peaking in. "And I don't want to hear shouting either."

The last bit of wisdom was a warning, one that reminded Tom that while Sybil and his mother were once at odds, Sybil was now more than capable of handling Helen Branson, even now as she continued to age and became even stronger in her faith.

With her mother gone, Madeleine moved further into the room. She stood much in the way she had at the front door, with her hands behind her back and her posture straight. "Should I sit?"

"If you'd like," Tom stated dryly.

She did, but the silence continued. Finally, when Tom had also gotten comfortable resting on the edge of the bed, Madeleine sat forward and began to plead her case. At least, that was her intention. All she could manage was his name. "Da…"

"Madeleine, I do not have much to say to you. I am trying, alright, but this is all very hard for me."

"Well do you think it's easy for me? It's not, and it doesn't help that my father, a man who I love and respect and do everything in my power to impress, has shut me out."

"What would you like me to do, Mad?"

"I'd like you to stop being such a hypocrite!" she shrieked.

"Yes, well that was a bit different…"

"How? How Daddy? How was that different? Because you had plans to be married? Well Jacob and I are married now. So tell me how it's different…"

"Madeleine," Tom tried with teeth that gritted, "Your mother and I were friends for a very long time. I waited a very long time before she would even kiss me."

"And the minute you got her alone, you shagged her!"

"Madeleine, that is your mother!" Tom roared. "How _dare_ you!" Shamefully, his fingers itched, all of them taut in their boned design, kept stiff at his sides to keep them from reaching out and marking her cheek with the ridges of his knuckles.

"I don't care! I am sorry for the way that sounded, but it's the truth. This isn't about mam! This is about you and me. You didn't wait and I didn't wait either! The only difference is I got pregnant and mam didn't! Right?" Tom said nothing. "Right?" she tried again.

"Madeleine, do you know how heartbroken I am that you gave yourself so willingly to a boy who promised you nothing in return? I understand that things are changing, but that is not how you were raised. And your mother and I want so much more than that for you. And we want those things because you deserve them."

"Jacob's a good boy, Dad…"

"But he's still a boy, Madeleine."

"Well, I'm not. And I'm the one who went there last night. I didn't say no when we were intimate for the first time. In fact, I wanted it."

"Madeleine…" Tom warned once more.

"It's done, Dad! All of it. I'm sorry too, okay? But it happened and we're taking care of it. And someday, probably when they're married, Rian will have kids, and Aiden and Aine…"

"I don't even want to think of Aine and boys."

Somehow, the comment made Madeleine smile. "Yeah, well it will happen. And these are good things. Because you and Mam have done a good job. Even with me. This mistake is not yours to take the blame for. In fact, I'd really like to hurry this up so I can save her from Gram…"

"She's a strong woman. She can handle it."

"Gram's not going to be happy…"

"No," Tom sighed. "She won't. She may not talk to you for a bit."

"Yeah, well I'm used to that. You've given me quite the practice these past couple of days…"

"I'm sorry."

The room became quiet again — quiet and still and serious. "Yeah, me too," Madeleine agreed.

"Your mother and I think it might be best to send you away."

"Away? Where? To a home?"

"No, not to a home. With Isobel."

"England?"

"Madeleine, you can't stay here. I also don't think it's a good idea for you to tell people you've married Jacob."

"But you wanted me to!"

"I know, and I think it's the right thing. But you suddenly being married does not hide this. In fact, it makes it all the more obvious. And if you're proud of it or fine with it, then great. Your mother and I have chosen to stand behind you and support your decisions for this child. But I will not watch a town that I love, and that loves you, turn against you for this. If we tell them that your mam's family needs help because of the war, they'll understand—"

"Really, Dad?" Madeleine deadpanned. "They'll understand that my wealthy relatives are in a time of need because of the war? The countryside is a good place for battle. You understand that, right? Let's send the pregnant girl there instead of letting her live in the neutral city where she was born and where she and her husband attend school…"

"Isobel is smart, Madeleine. She's a great person and she'd want to help. Plus, she helped your Mam deliver you. You may not remember it, but when we were still living with your grandparents, she was one of your favorite people."

"Mam won't be there for the delivery?"

"I don't know, Maddie, maybe not…"

"Mam needs to be there for the delivery, Dad. I don't want to do this alone. I don't think I could…"

"Well you're a woman now, Madeleine. That's life. Being an adult is all about doing a lot of things you don't want to do. Most of them, as you'll find, for your children."

"So what? You'll just book me the passage and send me off?"

"Well, no. You'll finish up this semester and then we'll all go."

"Move to England? To Downton?"

"No," Tom waved off. "Are you out of your mind? I spent a good deal of my hard earned money and pride getting out of that place. Your mother and I are more than content here, in the home we own, with your brothers and sisters. But for Christmas, we will travel. We'll stay for the festivities, and when we come home, you will stay behind."

"Alone?"

"Your mother asked Isobel if Jacob could come as well."

"Dad, I don't know if he…"

"If he loves you, he will go. He can get work in the village—"

"They'll hire an Irish boy?"

"He's college educated. And they don't have a choice. Most of those small towns have been wiped out with boys enlisting."

"That's asking a lot."

"And he's asking a lot from you for carrying his child. That is how marriage works, Madeleine. You compromise." He sighed. "You're right, it is done, but now is the time where you realize that your decisions have consequences. Is Yorkshire ideal? Probably not. But Dublin is not any better. In fact, it's worse. Your—"

Behind them, the door opened, and a nerve wracked Aiden stuck his head inside. "Um, Dad, you need to get out here."

Tom looked to his son. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Everything!" Tom heard Aine yell from behind the door.

Aiden looked over his shoulder before turning back to his father. "Yeah, everything. Well, a lot…"

"A Thiarna…" Tom muttered. Immediately, he was left with no other option but to push past all of his children, leaving a particularly unsatisfied Madeleine in his wake, as he made his way toward the kitchen.

There, Rian sat at the table with his head stuck in a book, casually ignoring the display of domestic warfare occurring nearer to the stove and sink.

"This is your fault!" Tom heard his mother say. "If Tommy had married an Irish girl this—"

"If I'd married an Irish girl, I'd be feckin' miserable," Tom stated quite clearly. In doing so, he barely raised his hands, but both women saw it as a surrender; his own extension of the metaphorical olive branch.

"Tommy, you watch your mouth," his mother warned. "You two are in enough trouble as it is."

"You know what, Ma? Enough, alright? I'm not a child. Sybil is not a child. We have not been children for a very long time. In fact, even Madeleine is no longer a child…"

"She is a child! Only children make such stupid mistakes!"

"Helen, please, alright? As I told Tom, it is done and there's nothing we can do to fix it. If you're disappointed, well I'm sorry. I was too, but that won't fix this. They've gotten married and—"

"Well I hope they've gotten married. And as soon as we can arrange it, they'll be married in the church as well. All of my children and my grandchildren so far have been married in that church and—"

"And what if that is not what I want, Gram?"

Everyone turned to face Madeleine. Still, she appeared so fragile, and for a moment Sybil struggled to picture her carrying a child, not just in her arms, but the weight of which covered her entire midsection, resting so heavily on her hips and back.

"What if I don't want a wedding in the big church? What if signing the papers was enough for me? What if I just want everyone to stop talking about it?"

"Arrah! May god give you sense, child!"

Out of offense, Madeleine's eyes narrowed. Her calm approach to the situation did no more for the argument than her father's interjection, and while they now called her an adult, she wondered if she wanted the title after watching her family members, all of them older than her, bicker like children. "Do not punish my parents for something they had no control over. I am sorry. Alright? I have apologized to everyone and I'll apologize to you too, Gram."

"Madeleine," Mrs. Branson softened, doing so in a way that reminded the eldest daughter of her father's own instincts earlier. "Child, I did not mean—"

"But you did, Gram! I get it, alright? I've disappointed everyone. I'm a big harlot—" Hearing this, Rian finally looked up from his book.

Sybil stepped forward, reaching out for her daughter. "Madeleine, no one has said…" There was offense in her voice, and a bit of exhaustion too.

"But it's what everyone's thinking! If my own family thinks it then what will everyone in mass say, right? Trust me, Gram! I've thought of it all!"

"Madeleine Elizabeth, please lower your voice…" Tom sighed out.

Through the chaos, the doorbell chimed. The task, typically left up to the twins to fulfill, was ignored, as everyone waited for directions on how to proceed.

"Aiden, get the door," Tom instructed.

"But—"

"The door," Sybil repeated. Again, in a way that was rather comical, Aine followed her brother down the steps toward the front door. On the other side, Jacob stood, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket as he took in the teenagers' lost expressions.

"Hi," he let out. "Is Madeleine home?"

"Ummm...yessss," Aiden said, dragging both words out.

"Okay," Jacob nodded. "Can I see her?"

"No?" Aine tried, posing her answer as a question.

"I...can't?" Jacob clarified.

"No," Aiden sighed. "Well, not right now. Maybe later?"

"Later?"

"Maybe," Aine nodded.

"Is everything alright? Should I..."

"Probably not," Aiden stated simply.

"So Mads is home, but I can't see her now and you don't know if I'll be able to see her later?"

"That's about the shape of it," Aine confirmed.

"Can you tell her I was here? And have her…"

"I can tell her you were here," both twins said confidently. There was a certain urgency in their voices, haste that seemed to want to push the young man right off the steps — stronger than the stare of Madeleine's father that morning when the two were caught sharing a kiss.

"Alright…" Jacob sighed.

As the boy turned around, he felt a jolt back, that being Madeleine's own hand bringing him to face her. Aiden and Aine were nowhere to be seen, and all he could feel was this girl, his wife and the mother of his child, clutching onto him, her arms strung tightly around his neck as she cried into his chest. Feeling her body calm down, Jacob looked up. His eyes caught on Mr. and Mrs. Branson, and a woman he could only assume was Madeleine's grandmother. In seeing them, his eyes turned cold, admonishing them for whatever it was they had done to cause Madeleine to sob so loudly. If he had less sense, he would have told Madeleine the news he had brought with him, but instead, he returned his attention to her and rubbed at her back as his lips created white noise, attempting to mollify her sadness.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

I think there is a tendency in Sybil and Tom stories to side with the two. In this story they are a strong unit and I've written them so that their marriage is resilient and their love is palpable. These things matter, but even good, loving people can be wrong, no? So what do we think of Sybil and Tom's plan? Personally, without giving away anything, I don't think any outcome is ideal, so I'm just curious as to what my readers think…

x. Elle


	7. Firestorm

**A/N****: **I feel like it has been AGES since I've posted to this story. Life's been _a bit_ crazy lately (understatement of the century) so excuse the temporary hiatus. Originally this was meant to be the last chapter but for several reasons I've split it into two. Thanks to everyone who has followed thus far!

(***unbeta'd...glaringly so...sorry!)

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"Madeleine, please come in off the steps!"<p>

The eldest Branson child heard this command in both English and Irish delivered from the tongues of her mother, father, and grandmother, all of them carrying with them different tones and messages behind their words. The clearest of them all being that in lower-middle class neighborhoods there was no need for family matters to be left on the stoop. Her tears and the way she held onto Jacob were no better than an old metal bin of trash, lidded, but with an odor, sitting on the steps alerting the neighbors that perhaps everything within the home was not idyllic.

There was hesitance and a bit of awkward shuffling. Initially, Madeleine refused to let go of Jacob but soon the two were in her room, away from all the eyes and ears of the townhouse. The door remained ajar, ironically so, as once they were hidden from everyone, Madeleine suddenly didn't want to be touched.

"Mads…"

"No!" she hushed, throwing her hands to the sides as if to banish his pleading. "My parents want to send us to England. Well, they're asking my Aunt Isobel if we can stay with her. I told them you wouldn't want to go—"

"And I don't."

"And my father thinks that you need to begin making decisions with us in mind," Madeleine admonished with a single icy glare. "All of us," she finished, her eyes then floating down to where her hands clasped, fingers interlaced, over the soft wool of her dress.

"Yeah? Well my father still thinks I should enlist!" Jacob's voice was loud, and the way in which he spoke sounded somewhat sarcastic, as if he too was doing his best to believe in what he was saying.

Madeleine's brow furrowed and her stare went cold. The typically hazel hue of her eyes turned black as she thought of what Jacob, her husband, had just said. "You...you spoke to your father?" she whispered.

"Aye...and my mother."

"And...and your mother? By telephone?"

Madeleine had only ever seen one telephone in her life. It resided in the back office of Dublin's city hall, beyond where her uncle went to work every morning settling stocks. To whom it called, she was unsure — other city halls, she assumed.

"No," Jacob sighed as he took a seat next to his wife. "They came for a visit...arrived shortly after I dropped you off this morning. They thought that with the war, it would be a nice surprise. They're afraid that if they waited, traveling might not be possible closer to the holiday."

"And?"

"I haven't told them anything," he promised. "I didn't think it would—"

"You know, why is it that I had to face my parents and then my siblings and then you and then my grandmother and then when I begin to show, the entire city...but you don't have to shoulder that burden? Why is the weight of a child the woman's burden? Do you realize how stupid I feel, Jacob? Do you understand how much I have been shamed over this? We did something, consensually, and still somehow the blame falls more on me. So if you came here to tell me that you'd like me to come with you when you tell your parents, then fine, I will go with you. As your friend and now as your wife, I will do that. But this child needs a father and I need you to put in some effort here, alright?"

"Madeleine…"

"What?" She snapped. Then it came again, somehow with even more force. "What? I'm angry, Jake! I'm really, really angry! Nobody is being supportive!"

"Nobody? I'm right here!"

"Then be right here, okay? Be present, Jake! When we talk to your parents, I need you to proudly state that we are pregnant and now we are married and that we are making steps to make all of this right. And if they disown you, then we will deal with that. But you enlisting? That is not a decision I can make, just like it's not really up to me if I stay in school or not. At the end of the day, there is going to be a child here quicker than you or I would like to admit and that child is ours and we owe it to him or her to make the best decisions. You are not this solitary being anymore, okay? We are married now. You can't just go and make decisions on your own!"

"I didn't! My father merely said he thought that was my best plan of action."

"Well your father doesn't know that you've gone and knocked me up, does he?"

"Madeleine—"

"And when you tell him, and your mother, we're not going to listen to them...just like I can't afford to listen to my parents. I'm serious, Jake, this needs to be a decision we make together."

There was silence — too much of it. Madeleine, even with all of her pent up fury, sighed out and dropped her head down onto Jacob's shoulder. Together the two breathed out, staring at the wall above Aine's bed where a church calendar hung on a single nail. Sometimes, when either of the girls shut their door with far too much force, or if another door was opened down the hall causing a change in air circulation throughout the house, the calendar would swing against the wall like the chime of a grandfather clock keeping time. Today, the calendar was stationary, and Jacob and Madeleine's eyes met nothing other than the stoic face of a sad and tired St. Aloysius Gonzaga.

~!~

It was just Tom and Sybil in the kitchen; a rare occurrence in the Branson home, especially as of late. Tom's mother left earlier, taking with her a baking dish Sybil had borrowed and her less than pleasant attitude. Already the kettle was on the stove, the contents of which were shaking as the water heated, ready to be poured over a tea bag. There was no hesitance and both Sybil and Tom fell into their roles quite easily: Tom of making tea and Sybil sitting motionless at the kitchen table, her eyes affixed on the newspaper but not daring to actually read it.

"Are you alright?" Tom asked as he set down her tea cup.

She looked up and smiled faintly. "M'fine." It came out like a whisper, one that was hushed to nothing as she picked the cup up and began to sip at the hot liquid inside.

Tom sat, doing so with a sigh that propelled him back in his seat. His cup was on the table too, but he didn't grab for it to drink like she did. Instead, it remained, allowing heat to rise as he leaned forward, supporting himself with his hands on his knees. "Sybil, my mam shouldn't have said those things…"

"It's fine, okay? She loves you and—"

"She loves you too," he assured quickly.

Delicately, her eyelashes fluttered as if waiting for everything to process. "I know that."

"But she was wrong." This time there was no hesitation. Just as he had come into the kitchen earlier practically telling his own mother to be quiet, his words now produced the same outcome.

"And my parents will be wrong too," Sybil said quickly. If Tom wasn't going to accept that she did not want to talk about this, she'd have to bring up topics that turned him silent — usually ones that spoke of Yorkshire, his former job, and the life she left behind. "You know, when we tell them. Because you can love someone and want what's best for them and still be wrong. Very, very wrong. Just like I'm starting to think that maybe we're wrong. Maybe we've gone about this the completely incorrect way…"

"As opposed to?"

"I've said it before, Tom...my life is worth it because they gave me a choice."

"I'd hardly call your parents' reaction giving us a choice! After we told them you had no choice! We couldn't be together there! We had to leave, Sybil! That was the only option!"

"No, Tom! I could have stayed there. I could have lived in Yorkshire and you could have come back here by yourself. I made a choice, alright? And you helped me to make that choice and from that point we have made so many choices together. But that day, nearly twenty years ago, I made up my mind and followed my heart and we got married and we have a family and I am the woman I am because I chose to spend my life with you!"

"Alright…"

"You know, perhaps we're not giving Madeleine enough choices," Sybil said, trying to push the conversation further along. She also didn't want her husband to be upset with her, something that happened often when she brought up all of the things she once gave up, things her family forced him to believe was his fault.

With a kinked forehead, Tom looked up. "She's not aborting the child…"

"I don't think that's an option anymore and I believe she's aware of that. What I mean is—"

"She's going to want to stay here. She's going to insist that Jacob continue his schooling while she drops out."

"And what if she does? Who are we to tell her what is best?"

"We're her parents…"

Sybil sat forward and threw her arm out in frustration. As she did, her voice raised in volume. "And if I listened to my parents you and I wouldn't be having this discussion. I'd be back in England and you'd be here and we'd be married to other people. And I, for one, would be miserable…"

He wasn't letting her talk, not truly in the way where he sat back and listened. Now though, he looked as if he might cry. It was as if everything Sybil was saying, and had ever said, suddenly made sense. The news and the reality of their situation hit him so hard he thought as if he might actually pass out.

"I don't want our daughter to be miserable, Tom. Unhappy parents make for sad children."

"Do you think she's miserable now?" Tom tried, sounding genuinely concerned - if it was for Madeleine or her, Sybil could not tell. "Is that it? All of the crying?"

"No," Sybil said, shaking her head to expel a breathy laugh. "Those are hormones. She's overwhelmed, certainly. But I think she's a long way from miserable."

"If my family...if they—"

"Yeah?"

"Then we'll deal with it. That's their choice. And I love them but I need to do what is right for us and if you want to listen to Mads—"

"I want you to want that too."

"I don't know what I want, Sybil!" Tom gave unapologetically. His arms moved out to his sides to show just how unsure he was. Much of the fumbling she saw reminded her of nights in the garage when his feigned arrogance could be mistaken for awkward teenage intimacy if caught correctly by the moon. "If I did, would it matter? I want all of this to go away but that's not an option!"

There was silence, that of which was interrupted by Sybil sipping at the last bit of tea in her mug. With the cup back on the table, she turned away from Tom and with only half of her weight on the chair, she looked out the window, using her hand to prop her head up. Finally, she turned back to him, almost as if the setting sun outside and the way it shaded the row of townhomes behind theirs had brought her sudden and instant clarity.

"You're going to be the best grandfather, you know…"

"What?"

Sybil pursed her lips into a small smirk. As she moved back toward her husband, she grabbed his hands and began to play with them atop the table. "You're going to love that baby and you're going to wonder how you ever thought of sending her away or—"

"That settles it then, doesn't it?"

Sybil was still smiling but even wider now. In a way, she felt proud for convincing Tom of this, but on the other hand, these were merely things she knew he'd acknowledge if only given the proper time. Her husband was stubborn, and at times in their lives it proved to be the best option for him and her. His stubborn nature had him waiting for her response and when she finally gave it, it was what he used to defend her in the company of relatives and friends. It was fair to say that it also caused a few spats, but none Sybil could recall by day or time. Instead, her mind thought of the nights after, most before babes came along, when the two were tangled and naked, breathless from the weight of words exchanged.

"I think we should discuss this with her. And Jacob. See what she thinks is right and trust that decision," Sybil suggested.

"And when she decides to stay?"

"We brace ourselves. Everything we've discussed will most likely come true. Church may be awkward and your family may struggle...I know mine certainly will. People will stare and whisper. But I just keep thinking that Madeleine is strong enough to handle it all and maybe her and Jacob will be brave and the happier they are the less everyone will talk."

Tom looked up. "Are you speaking from personal experience?" There was just the slightest bit of cheek in his voice.

"Well it's not a surprise that my first few years here we're not the most pleasant…"

It was not the answer he was expecting, and Tom tilted his head to the side as if to understand it better - or differently. "Do you mean that?"

"Well that was the intention, wasn't it? But I had you and eventually everyone else came around."

"And that was nearly twenty years ago."

Sybil stood up and grabbed their empty mugs from the otherwise clear table. Both were placed in the sink where other dishes soaked in a wash basin amongst the grease of that morning's fare and the soap meant to mitigate it. Stepping back into Tom, Sybil leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Time passes quickly, doesn't it Tom Branson?" she asked all before pressing a kiss to the smooth skin below his earlobe.

Tom remained staring blankly ahead. "I don't want her to regret it. I want her to have married Jacob because it's what she wants. I want her to keep the baby because she wants to be a mother and a wife and—"

"I don't regret it. Not for a second. And I could tell my parents that over and over again but they'd still never believe me…" Her words trailed off and Tom could only imagine his wife finished the sentence in her mind in a similar fashion as he had just done. "I want to believe her. I'm going to believe her," she resolved.

He looked back to her, quirking his head over his shoulder so his eyes could rest upon hers. "Alright...I will too."

~!~

Their kisses were slow. Outside of the tea shop where Madeleine had met Jacob's parents, in the same spot the teenage girl had just sobbed thinking she had ruined her husband's life with the news they shared with his parents, the two stood pressed up against one another with lips meeting so often their hands couldn't quite keep up. Of course Jacob's parents were upset, and as expected, there was yelling. Madeleine was called more than one shameful name while Jacob was merely told his parents were disappointed in him. Left with no other option, the two teens sat mostly in silence, just accepting their fate. When it was time for Jacob's parents to leave, they did so quietly. The parlor of the cafe was still fairly empty and Jacob and Madeleine remained behind, breathing without judgement, noiselessly calculating where to go from there. They were left without many options - any, if you asked Jacob. Perhaps that was how they ended up in the alley. Initially, the two were trying to calm one another down, but soon it became about more than that and Jacob and Madeleine were finding that marriage had its perks one being that through all life had dealt them, they suddenly didn't feel so alone.

"I think I get it," Jacob finally said as Madeleine played with the buttons on his cardigan. Somehow their stolen moment had caused them both to shy away from one another, their eyes not yet daring to meet.

Finally, Jacob looked to her. His lips were still swollen and Madeleine felt power in the fact that she had made them that way. "Get what?" she asked innocently.

"Why they're treating us as if we're children."

Madeleine quirked an eyebrow in question. "Yes?"

"Well we're homeless," Jacob said quite frankly. "And to solve our problems I've just snogged you in an alley."

"We're not homeless," Madeleine said with a laugh.

"Well, I mean…" Jacob's voice trailed off into a sigh. "We'll find a place. I still have my dorm. You still have your scholarship too, right?"

"Not for long…"

Jacob looked to her - concerned. "What?"

"Well they'll take it away. When they find out…"

"They can't do that!"

"They can and they will. It's fine though. Because they can't take yours away. We're married and our child deserves to have a father who is educated and—"

"No," Jacob said sternly. "No," it came again, this time with a shake of his head. "You too, Mads. You work harder than anyone. We both can—"

"No," she said shaking her head. Her tone was so soft it almost gave the word new meaning. "I'll be growing soon, you know. I'll be as big as a house…"

"I don't care—"

"You will," Madeleine said with a smirk, one that showed no signs of offense in the way he expected. "It's alright to care, you know. I'm going to care too."

"Have you…" His words halted just as quickly as they were sputtered out.

"What?"

"Have you felt anything?"

Madeleine looked to the ground, wishing her answer were different. "No...no, I haven't. I wish I had."

"Should you go to a doctor—"

"I've gone," she insisted. "I've gone and they've confirmed I'm pregnant. That's how we got into this whole mess…" Jacob gave her a look. "Well, I mean, everything now. After..._that_," she said, looking to the ground again, this time with her hands crossed over her stomach.

"Do you want to do it again?"

"What?" Madeleine asked quickly, a breathy laugh escaping her lips to show her disbelief. She couldn't avoid his glance anymore. In fact, she needed to see him.

"I mean, not right now. I don't know. After the baby has come. Is that...can we ever...have I—"

"We don't have to wait that long, you know."

It was his turn to be shocked. "What?"

Madeleine smiled. "I mean, cat's out of the bag, no?"

"Well, doesn't it...with the baby...can we?"

"Yes," Madeleine said, smiling. Then her face dropped. "But that requires a home. This child deserves a home, Jacob."

All at once they were moving, clutching nothing but fingertips as they made their way out of the alley and away from the shop they'd just had lunch at. They cut through the park, their legs avoiding any and all straight lines drawn by the cobblestones below, causing the distance between their bodies to increase and decrease as they walked.

"Where are we going?" Jacob asked.

This was comical to Jacob but as Madeleine gave him her answer, it became less so. "I mean, I just...there's always—"

His facial expression, that of a latent smile, faltered. Not wanting to hear the words he only suspected were on the tip of her tongue, he gave an answer of his own. "My dormitory."

"I don't want to go back to your dormitory right now," Madeleine revealed quite calmly.

"Okayyyy," Jacob droned. "Then where would you suppose we go?"

"Home. My home—"

"With your dad?"

"I mean, yes, Jacob. He'll be there. And my mam and—"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, Jacob, I'm very serious."

"I mean…" He sighed.

"Listen, I know this is not ideal, but I cannot raise a child in a room that is no bigger than a closet. My parents are angry, sure, but they haven't disowned me. That's still my home. And they haven't said that but I know that if we needed a place, they'd help me figure it out."

"Help you or help us?"

"Us. Because they love me—"

"My parents love me too…"

Madeleine sighed. "I'm sure they do. I...I know they do, Jake. But my parents are different. They really had to struggle to prove themselves here. Everything they have now they have worked so extremely hard for. And they know what it's like to have your family look down on you. Even my dad...he had a lot of that when he came back here with my mum. And my grandfather back in England still treats us differently. He loves us...just like your parents love you, but he has made the decision to love my mum and her children differently because of the choices she made. Just like now you're making choices and your parents are taking a step back. They love you, just...differently."

"Madeleine...I can't…"

She looked to him with wide eyes. "What do you mean you can't? You can and you will! Where will you go, Jake? Your dorm? And then you'll visit when it's convenient for you? I am not raising this baby alone!"

"Madeleine, calm down…"

"Please, stop calling me Madeleine!"

The area around them, the small space of sidewalk that the two teens occupied, immediately became still and silent. It was almost as if time froze, patiently waiting for both of them to catch their breath before continuing, most likely at record speeds.

"I'm going home."

"Good," Jacob said with shoulders that shrugged off the response - it was as if he was glad to be done with it, ridding his lips of such a burden. "Go,"

Madeleine rolled her lips inward, her mind calculating where to go from here while at the same time willing her mouth to speak no words. With squared shoulders she took a step away from Jacob, essentially obliterating the small bubble the two had previously occupied so intimately.

"Mads! Mads!" Jacob tried again. "Wait! I'm sorry, okay? That was wrong! I'm just really stressed out…"

"You're stressed out?" she snapped as she turned back to him. The curls pinned back off of her face bounced as she moved. "Let me rephrase my earlier statement, Jacob: I am not raising this baby alone but I will, alright? You don't think I'm stressed? There is a child growing in my stomach! A child you put there! I am so stressed I could vomit. So please, spare me your sob story about how stressed you are. At the end of the day you could walk away if you wanted, but me? I can't do that."

As she promised, Madeleine took off, leaving an extremely flustered Jacob standing near a closed storefront alone. It reminded him of the first time he had met Madeleine. Of course the connection was a comical one, especially to think of how far the two had come since then, and perhaps not all for the better. Just like that day almost a year ago, she made a snarky remark and then walked away with her friends, leaving Jacob to think - alone. He'd found her again though. Later that day she was sitting on a bench reading a book and he gathered the courage to sit down beside her and inquire about it. He lied about having read it, believing to a certain extent that to admit he had not was to reveal a great deal of weakness in this girl's eyes. Surprisingly though, when Madeleine called him on his lie and he admitted that no, he had not read the book but wished too, she was rather kind. She didn't judge but instead laughed with him and went on to recommend the book. Jacob remembered specifically how her eyes lit up as she described, in detail, the importance of reading books written by people of all different cultures and backgrounds. She told him other things too, he was sure, but he didn't remember them; his eyes were too focused on the curve of her lips and the way she laughed at jokes he was sure weren't nearly as funny as she found them to be. Jacob had never felt special before Madeleine Branson walked into his life, and he'd never felt more alone until she walked out.

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

x. Elle


	8. The Peace Treaty

**A/N****:** Well, readers, this is it. I have so much to say but I'm not going to say any of it. What I will say is that it was a pleasure to share this story and I am really grateful to those who read each chapter - and especially to those of you who gave me such quality feedback. You're all so lovely.

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><p>Just as he had almost a year ago, Jacob was able to find Madeleine again, this time sitting on the front steps of her parents' home. Her face was forlorn as she propped it up on her elbow and stared straight ahead. The plaid skirt she wore fanned away from her body, covering the way her knees were bent, allowing her to hunch over even more. The position, Jacob imagined, would be impossible in just a few short months.<p>

"I'm sorry," he let out. He used the word to propel him downward. Altogether he was defeated by it and becoming more so the longer she allowed the silence between them to continue.

"Alright," she gave back.

"Alright?" he asked. Was that an acceptance of his apology or was she as tired as he was and sick of all the fighting?

"Alright," she repeated. Still, Madeleine did not look to him. Soon, however, she straightened out her posture and leaned back against the step. "I was too scared to knock."

Jacob looked to her with eyes that calculated what this meant. Slowly, his mouth dropped open, pausing before speaking. "I can knock...if you want me to," he stammered.

Madeleine remained still, her elbows now stretched behind her leaning on the concrete slab of step leading up to her childhood home. "No, I'll do it," she sighed out.

"Do you...is it…" Then finally: "Do you want me to be here?"

Madeleine shrugged. A few children kicked a ball around near the house across the street. It seemed, at least today, the world would go on just the same regardless of the troubles that plagued Madeleine and Jacob. Someday they'd be talking, or at least that is what everyone surmised, but for now the streets were oddly quiet. "I don't mind—"

"But do you want me to be here?" he asked again, this time with words that were far stronger than they previously had been.

"I mean, sure." She sighed out again; she was done with that answer and onto the next. Finally, she looked to him. "But I guess the better question is do you want to be here?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to south enthusiastic but so much so forcing the words to lack doubt.

Madeleine looked to the ground before using the way she leaned back on her arms to push her into a standing position. "Okay, well I'm going inside if you'd like to join me. We're having supper soon—" Madeleine stopped herself as she saw Jacob move to speak. With a smile, and eyelids that remained closed for just a bit more than was natural, she continued. "I can smell my mam's lamb roast from here."

Quickly, Jacob stood. He straightened out his jacket - something he had also done before ringing her doorbell that first night, the first time he was meant to meet her parents, only to find that Madeleine had news for him.

Now here they were.

"Will I be invited?"

"I don't think they'll kick you out," she said with a bit of mirth as she stepped in toward the door.

He sighed again. "Alright then." Another step into her and he was tempted to place his hand to the small of her back. "Okay…"

Together, the two stood as one solitary unit. As Madeleine squared her shoulders and shook her head to allow her curls to fall back off of her shoulders, Jacob looked to her, gauging her features for any sign of emotion. It seemed, from his vantage point taking her her profile, that she had none. Even so, she did not reach out for the handle.

"Mads—"

Quickly her head snapped to him. "Do I just walk in? I mean, is this place still my home or am I a guest here? Should I knock? I should knock, right?"

"I think it's still your home," he stated strongly. "I want that for you and for the baby…"

Madeleine forced a small smile. "Me too," she whispered.

More silence came, and like a steady breeze it kissed their cheeks and eyelids before ruffling Madeleine's skirt. Despite it, the two stood, still unable to move.

"I could knock," Jacob offered again. "I mean, it's not my home."

"You know, things used to be—"

"But this isn't that anymore, Mads. Things have changed. There's the war and the baby now. Life is different."

She looked down before nodding. "You're right."

"I don't want to be right, I just want you to not be so attached to that because life is constantly changing, you know? And that's a good thing and we can handle it but we have to handle it together—"

Everything stopped as in front of them, the door opened, casting light upon their faces and causing them both to look straight ahead. Tom stood there, neutral, and with a dishrag slung over his shoulder. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and he wore no shoes, only the wool socks Sybil knitted him each year. "Are you going to come in?" he asked. There were no signs of subjectivity in his voice; it seemed he just wanted an answer.

Madeleine nodded. "If it's alright."

"Please," Tom said as he now stood back and took the door with him. "I'd prefer the neighbors not begin rumors about your mother and I being incapable of feeding our children…" His voice trailed off and Madeleine forced a small smile as she took a step up into the home — her home. Jacob followed.

"And grandchildren, I suppose," Tom added with a sharp inhale through his nose. As it happened and the door was shut, Tom was suddenly reminded of Robert Crawley and the thought, one that was cold and unsettling, had him quickly taking the steps behind his daughter and her husband. He hoped there would be opportunity soon for him to mollify such a stupid comment. Or rather, to remedy his delivery of the truth.

At the top of the stairs, everyone paused, and Tom gently brushed past the couple to help retake his position by the sink, cutting into the roast. His movement alerted the rest of the family who halted their actions to stare at the young couple standing at the threshold to the kitchen. Right below where Tom stood, amongst the busy nature of a kitchen right before dinnertime, the crumpled up letter to Isobel Crawley found its final resting place at the bottom of the family's wastebin.

"Aine, grab an extra plate for Jacob please," Sybil stated as she continued to stir the colcannon. As Aine followed her mother's instructions, Sybil looked to Madeleine and smiled. Quickly though, her smile faded and she was back to being the strong assertive woman this country expected her to be. Sybil hoped Madeleine would learn those same things some day, perhaps soon: the things a woman does for her children and for husband and the war that comes from keeping the peace between both.

"Mrs. Branson, may I—"

"Here," Tom said, passing the teenage boy the basket of fresh made rolls. He nodded down toward the opposite end of the table where Rian was already taking a seat. "They go there."

Jacob said nothing, but moved swiftly to set the item down. In doing so, he turned back to Madeleine and helped her sit. Together, the two scooted their chairs in, completing the tableau of a crowded kitchen table where hands instinctively clasped, ready to thank God for such a meager offering as the radio lightly whispered tales of war.

"Madeleine, would you like to lead the prayer?"

"As gaeilge?" She asked.

"No," Tom smirked. "English will do." On the other side of the table Aiden snickered.

"Oh, sure," she said, unable to hide the way her father's offer made her light up. Curled fingertips reached up, then over, delicately motioning the sign of the cross. Everyone mimicked the girls actions and bowed their heads as Madeleine began "Bless us, oh lord, for these thy gifts…"

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><p>x. Elle<p> 


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